


Legend of the Wolf

by Dazzlious



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Pregnancy, Sexual Harassment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-14
Updated: 2017-07-15
Packaged: 2018-10-31 12:01:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 11
Words: 45,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10898952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dazzlious/pseuds/Dazzlious
Summary: When Hermione refuses to submit to Lucius Malfoy she has no idea what she is about to unleash. Warning is for later in the story





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from JK Rowling’s fantastic books or films, I’m just borrowing and playing with them for a little while and get no monetary reward for doing so. 
> 
> A/N: I’m not entirely sure where this plot came from as it started life as a standard Lucius/Hermione tale. Somewhere along the way the twist popped into my brain and refused to go away and completely changed the entire story. This is definitely not one of my usual pairings by any stretch of the imagination! I’ve had a bit of a shift around of timescales in the seventh year so it’s only nominally canon but hey-ho that’s what fanfic is all about, isn’t it? I’ll be interested to hear what you think. Dx
> 
>  
> 
>  

Hermione knocked on the door and opened it without waiting. The room was empty so she walked rapidly down the length of the classroom until she reached the door of the Potion Master’s study. She paused for a second, trying to control her shivering, before knocking on that door, too.

She waited for a moment then knocked again more urgently, calling out for Professor Snape as she did so. She had no idea what was going on but if anyone could help her it was him. Perhaps he would have a potion that would stop the terrible craving she was feeling or would know a spell to get rid of the dull ache that had been building up inside of her for what seemed like forever now.

The door opened, the scowling face of Professor Severus Snape prominent in front of her.

‘What do you want, Miss Granger? What is so urgent that you wake the dead with your noise?’

Hermione looked desperately at the teacher. ‘I need your help, sir.’

Snape rolled his eyes and sighed deeply. ‘I gathered that from the appalling racket you were making.’ He sighed again to ensure she was aware that he was being put-upon and stepped backwards into his study, opening the door more widely to allow Hermione entrance.

‘Well, come in,’ he said testily, ‘and explain to me what you need so badly that you felt it was worth disturbing me at this time of night.’

Hermione followed Snape into his study but she ignored the chair he indicated she should sit in, instead, wrapping her arms around herself. She was shivering again but she knew it wasn’t from the cold. Snape’s study, although in the dungeons, had a decent fire and was actually rather warm.

No, whatever was causing the shivering was the same thing that was causing the terrible dull aching throb that was building up inside her, and she knew it had something to do with her separation from . . . but she didn’t want to think about that now. It wouldn’t help. She just needed something to make her stop feeling this way, and that was why she had come to see Professor Snape.

She noticed the Potions Master hadn’t asked where she had been and wondered whether he knew. He must do, otherwise surely he would be creating a fuss about her suddenly reappearing at Hogwarts after being missing for several weeks.

‘So, firstly, how did you get here?’ Snape asked as if reading her thoughts. ‘How did you manage to get away?’

‘Did you know where I was, Professor?’ Hermione asked sharply. She couldn’t help the sudden flash of annoyance at the thought that he had known and yet done nothing to help her.

Snape shook his head briskly. ‘No. I knew Lucius had taken you, of course. We all knew that. But I wasn’t privy to where you were being kept, I imagine because he assumed that my loyalty would be to Hogwarts and I would attempt to return you to the school. I’ve been kept completely out of the loop with regards to you, especially as I’ve been stuck here rather than with the Dark Lord and his followers.’ His black eyes carefully examined Hermione as he spoke. ‘But you don’t seem to have been too badly treated, thank Merlin. How did you get away?’

‘I had help,’ Hermione said somewhat evasively. ‘The Death Eaters left to guard me were distracted and I managed to get away. Once I got outside Malfoy Manor I was able to Apparate, so I came back here. I was fairly certain that Mr Malfoy wouldn’t be able to get to me once I was back at Hogwarts . . . and I needed to see you.’

Snape frowned. ‘Where did you get a wand from to Apparate? Surely Lucius didn’t give yours back, and I can’t imagine there was one just lying around in the path of your escape.’

‘The person who created the diversion gave me their wand,’ Hermione replied.

‘And you don’t want me to know who that was,’ Snape said. He looked at Hermione critically again. ‘I won’t tell Lucius Malfoy who helped you, Miss Granger. Surely you must know that?’

Hermione stared back at the Potions Master just as keenly. ‘It’s not important who helped me, Professor Snape. Anyway, Mr Malfoy will already know who it was.’

Snape realised he wasn’t going to get the name of Hermione’s helper so he changed tack. He was intrigued to know who had risked incurring Lucius’ wrath to help Hermione escape, but that would have to wait. From the way she was shaking even though the room was warm, and with her pallid complexion, there was obviously something wrong with her.

Had she become ill because of the conditions in which she had been kept? Although Lucius wasn’t best disposed towards Muggle-borns, Snape didn’t believe he would have treated her badly, especially if the rumours he had been hearing about the blond man’s desire for Hermione were true. There was definitely something wrong with her, though.

He indicated the seat once more. ‘Come, Miss Granger, sit down and tell me what you need to see me for. I would have thought you would be better off visiting the Hospital Wing if you’re unwell.’

Again, Hermione ignored the seat but she unfolded her arms, the shivering having subsided for a moment. She was feeling warmer, hot even, and somehow her senses seemed to be heightened. She took a deep breath, her heart racing as she realised she could smell Professor Snape: a mixture of herbs, sandalwood and something else, something darker and more feral, and he smelt wonderful.

The dull ache increased suddenly; her need flaring as she moved closer to the teacher who was still looking at her, clearly annoyed at her continuing refusal to sit.

‘I’m not sick, Professor Snape,’ Hermione said as she took another step closer. She realised her voice had become huskier. It sounded almost sexy.

She was so hot now she felt as if she was burning up. Too hot; she needed to cool down. Automatically her hands went to her blouse, undoing the buttons and pulling the cotton from her body, the weight of the material too much on her burning skin. She needed to be naked. And, she realised as she looked at the surprised Potions Master, she needed to have sex with Professor Snape. It was the only thing that would stem the pain inside her. 

‘Miss Granger, I don’t know what you think you’re doing but you need to stop undressing immediately,’ Snape said, sounding uncharacteristically flustered.

Hermione ignored him and continued to remove her clothes, more rapidly now. The heat was threatening to burn her up and she had to be free of the restricting garments that were keeping the heat trapped. She looked at Snape and smiled almost wolfishly.

‘I think you should take your clothes off too, Professor. You’re always so buttoned up and I’m sure you’d feel more comfortable with them off,’ she said seductively. ‘And I know I would certainly appreciate it. So what do you say, time for us both to get naked?’

Snape shook his head and sighed. ‘Did someone put a spell of some sort on you?’ he asked gravely as he moved back, trying to examine Hermione’s behaviour without looking at her increasing nakedness. ‘Miss Granger, please stop undressing. I can’t help you if you insist on removing your clothes.’

Hermione, who was now taking off her underwear, smiled again. ‘You can help me by taking your clothes off, Professor.’ She gave a small growl and moved towards him as she pulled down and removed her knickers, then leant forward to whisper in his ear, ‘I really need you to fuck me. You’ve absolutely no idea how good you smell and you’re making me really horny.’ She gave him a small kiss on his ear before moving back.

‘What has happened to you, Miss Granger?’ Snape asked, trying hard to keep his voice even, although he was aware his arousal was growing, caused by the beautiful naked young woman in front of him. ‘Did Lucius do something to you or give you something? Were you charmed or given a potion?’ he added worriedly, trying to work out what could be causing Hermione’s symptoms.

‘I have this _thing_ inside me,’ Hermione replied sounding in pain. ‘It hurts and it’s getting worse. You need to help me to get rid of it. You need to fuck me and make it go away. It’s the only thing that will work . . . _please_.’

Snape removed his outer robe and held it out to Hermione. ‘Please put on the robe to cover yourself up, Miss Granger, and then we’ll talk. We’ll find out what’s happened to you.’

Hermione shook her head. She was scared at what was happening to her and her inability to retain control of her body and mind. Sounding almost hysterical, she insisted, ‘I can’t wear that. It hurts my skin too much. Please, Professor, it’s getting worse and I can’t stop it. Don’t you understand? If you don’t fuck me I think I’m going to die.’

‘You told me you needed my help,’ Snape said firmly, trying to regain control of the situation. ‘I assume that what is happening to you now is because of something that occurred while you were held captive. If you tell me what it was I’ll find a way to stop it.’

‘I’ve already told you what will stop it,’ Hermione growled. ‘I need you to fuck me. It’s the only thing that will work now. When I came here I thought there might be some other way, but now I know there isn’t.’

‘Well, that isn’t going to happen,’ Snape said matter-of-factly. ‘So I suggest you tell me what happened to you so I can find another way to help you.’

‘Why won’t you just do what I want?’ Hermione cried out in frustration. She was clearly upset and starting to cry. ‘You must be desperate for sex working here, surely? For Merlin’s sake, I’m not asking you to marry me or anything, Professor. I just need you to fuck me.’

The feelings inside Hermione were running riot and she needed Snape to touch her, needed him to quench the fire that was burning her up inside. Now there was nothing but her need for him, nothing mattered but that. But he refused to help and she couldn’t understand why that was when it was so obvious that this was the _only_ way he could help her.

‘Calm down, Miss Granger. I’m sure that once you’ve explained the circumstances to me I’ll be able to assist you, but getting overwrought about the situation isn’t going to help. I can assure you sex is not the only solution to this problem,’ Snape told her in his most soothing voice.

‘It is,’ Hermione retorted firmly. ‘There is _nothing_ else, and if you won’t help me then I’ll just have to go and find someone else who will.’

Without waiting another moment or picking up her clothes, Hermione turned and walked out the door of Snape’s office. Swearing loudly, Snape rushed after her, knowing he couldn’t let her leave his classroom. He dreaded to think what would happen if anyone came across her in her current condition, especially any of the Slytherins.

The Potions Master still had no idea what had happened to Hermione, but she seemed to be charmed and obviously wasn’t in a position to be sensible so he was going to have to take control of the situation.

‘Miss Granger, wait,’ he said loudly as he followed her across the classroom.

Hermione stopped and turned. She was smiling once more.

‘I knew you would help me,’ she said, her voice that seductive drawl again, and she walked back towards Snape, her hand running down over the buttons of his frock coat as she leant forward to plant her lips on his. 

Snape froze for a moment but worried that this would cause Hermione to take flight again, he returned the kiss, wrapping his arms around her as he did so to make sure she couldn’t get away from him.

‘Come back into the office with me, Miss Granger. It’s warmer in there . . . and more private,’ he said cajolingly once the kiss had finished. His hand gripped the top of her arm as he tried to steer her back towards his office.

‘But I’m not cold,’ Hermione insisted, and Snape knew this was true.

He could feel the heat of her as she pressed against him, the feel of her body arousing him, making his blood race. He was aware, too, of her arousal. He could smell it, musky and overpowering, under a warm, sweet scent that was aiding in lowering his reserves.

Snape shook his head to clear it, wondering if there really was some enchantment that was affecting him too, and he pulled at her arm more urgently.

‘We don’t need to go back to your office,’ Hermione told him, her voice low and playful. She was still toying with Snape’s buttons, her hand moving lower to his trousers. She squeezed at the bulge she found there as she kissed him again. Once the kiss had finished she added, ‘You can take me out here, on this workbench, Professor. I know you want it as much as I do.’

Snape was going to protest against this and was about to insist that they return to the office and talk about what was affecting Hermione, but now he thought about it, he had to admit the idea of having sex with the beautiful young woman was a good one.

She was right, working at Hogwarts did very little for his sex life. Why shouldn’t he take advantage of her if she was so eager for it to happen? After all, she was convinced this was the only way she could be helped, and who was he to say she wasn’t correct? He had promised to help her and if that meant making love to her then so be it. Who was he to argue?

‘Are you sure you wouldn’t be more comfortable in the office?’ he asked solicitously.

Hermione shook her head and managed to spit out beseechingly, ‘No . . . here . . . now. I need you . . . please.’

Snape picked Hermione up and put her on the workbench, his lips finding hers for another kiss, this one far more passionate than the previous ones had been. If they were going to do this then they might as well do it properly and he would give her as much enjoyment as he could.

He could feel Hermione’s hands working on the buttons of his trousers and he gave a hiss as she released his erection, pulling down his underpants to free it before wrapping a hand around it and gripping tightly.

Hermione gave a small moan, decidedly of pleasure as Snape’s hands began to move too, one still around her back, holding her, the other sliding down her body to find the dampness between her legs, proof positive of her arousal.

‘Oh god, I need you inside me,’ Hermione said loudly, the words ripped from her, once more sounding as if she was in pain. She moaned again as his fingers pushed inside her, moving on them as she cried out with pleasure, her grip on him renewed. ‘Fuck me . . . please. I can’t wait any longer. I need it now.’

Snape removed his fingers from her and gently opened her hand that was wrapped around his erection as he gazed at her tenderly. She was so beautiful and he really did want to make love to her. 

‘Don’t do it, or I _will_ kill you, Severus.’ A dark snarling voice came out of the shadows.

Snape froze and squinting, looked in the direction the voice had come from.

‘I won’t be able to stop myself,’ the voice continued matter-of-factly. ‘If you touch her you _will_ die. Now back away immediately.’

Snape took a step back from the workbench, freeing up Hermione, who jumped down and moved towards the voice. He hurriedly put himself away and did up the buttons of his trousers.

‘Fenrir, is that you?’ Hermione asked, the sound of longing in her voice surprising Snape.

A moment later the great hulking mass of the werewolf, Fenrir Greyback, came out of the shadows and she rushed into his arms, her lips finding his as she pulled at his robe, clearly eager to get at what was beneath. Fenrir’s huge arms wrapped around her in response and he picked her up easily.

With a loud rumble from his massive chest, he pushed her against the wall and entered her in one swift movement. Hermione gave a loud cry as the two of them rutted hard, interested only in each other, not caring that Snape was still in the room.

The Potions Master watched them with a mixture of surprise, dismay and utter disgust.

Snape’s first reaction was to pull out his wand and attempt to hex the werewolf, although he was worried about what would happen to Hermione if he did that. But then she was being penetrated by the beast anyway, so what could possibly be worse than that?

He had just decided to attack when he heard Hermione talking to the creature and it made him pause in confusion. 

‘I’m so sorry, my love,’ Hermione moaned. She sounded as if she was on the verge of tears. ‘I couldn’t help myself. I needed him.’

‘Shhh . . . later, love,’ Fenrir growled before his mouth clamped on hers again, kissing her deeply to stop her from talking further.

In stunned amazement, Snape let his wand drop as he continued to watch the couple in utter disbelief. The werewolf’s thrusts intensified, causing Hermione to make loud whimpering noises with every stroke. Her legs were wrapped around his back, pulling him deeper inside her, her need as obvious as his.

Less than two minutes later they both climaxed, Hermione yelling out her joy as the werewolf howled. Another kiss followed, then Fenrir released her from her current position, lowering her gently to the floor.

Hermione stared at Snape, who was still watching in grim fascination, then looked back at Fenrir. ‘How long before the second part?’ she asked. Her voice was husky and low.

Fenrir shrugged. ‘As soon as possible, really.’ He, too, looked at Snape. ‘Look, I’m sorry about this, Severus, but we really need you to leave . . . for a few minutes at least,’ he told the dark-haired man.

‘Excuse me?’ Snape retorted coldly. He scowled fiercely at the couple, his wand now trained on them once more. ‘What do you mean you need me to leave? I don’t think so. I need you to explain what’s going on here — then _you_ need to leave, Greyback. You know you’re not welcome at Hogwarts.’

‘I only came to get Hermione,’ Fenrir said. ‘She was taken away from me and it was important I find her. I guessed she would come to see you as she needed help and I had suggested you previously.’ He drummed his clawed fingers rapidly on the workbench, causing a staccato sound on the wood. ‘Look, I will explain everything to you, but first, you need to leave and let us have a few minutes alone.’

‘I have absolutely no intention of leaving _you_ alone with Miss Granger,’ Snape retorted, ‘especially after what I’ve just seen you doing to her.’ He looked sternly at Hermione. ‘Move away from the werewolf and go and put your clothes back on, Miss Granger.’

His gaze returned to the werewolf. ‘Now tell me, Greyback, what the hell is going on?’

‘Please, Professor Snape,’ Hermione begged; she sounded close to tears still. She had made no attempt to move away from the werewolf. ‘Please, we just need a few minutes of privacy. I promise Fenrir isn’t going to hurt me, but I can’t let you see . . . .’ Her voice trailed off as she looked at the taciturn teacher and realised he wasn’t about to be swayed by her words.

‘Look, Severus, I understand you’re suspicious of my motives but I promise you I have no intention of hurting Hermione. We really will explain everything to you if you’ll just let us have a few minutes of privacy.’ Fenrir’s ever-deepening growl of a voice sounded surprisingly meek. ‘I honestly wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t of the utmost urgency.’

Both he and Snape looked at Hermione. It was clear she was becoming highly aroused again, and her hand ran down Fenrir’s chest almost teasingly. As Snape watched the werewolf began to become less human and more wolf-like.

‘Go,’ the wolfish figure growled and it bared its teeth at Snape as if to challenge him.

‘Please, you have to go,’ Hermione begged, sounding as if she was in pain. ‘Just give us five minutes.’

Snape had no idea what was going on and every cell in his body was telling him he shouldn’t leave Hermione alone with Greyback, especially in his current state. But she was adamant, and something was obviously about to happen that they didn’t want him to witness.

Having seen them previously, Snape was fairly certain that whatever it was he didn’t want to see it, and at least if he gave them the privacy they asked for he could press them for a proper explanation once they had finished with whatever it was they were going to do.

Also, he didn’t want to have to fight Greyback in his wolfish incarnation — that was just madness that he could do without. With a final glance at the werewolf he silently nodded his head once and, turning his back on the couple, he made his way into his office and shut the door behind him.

Almost immediately he heard the sharp cry of the werewolf. Greyback had obviously completely transformed from his human form now. For a moment Snape worried about Hermione left alone with the vicious creature but it was too late now. Even if he went back out there he wouldn’t be able to stop the werewolf from whatever was about to happen.

There was another cry, this time from Hermione, and then Snape clamped his hands over his ears, desperately trying to block out the sounds that were issuing from the classroom.


	2. Chapter 2

Sometime later Snape realised the classroom was silent again. The sounds the couple had been making had finally stopped. Tentatively, he opened the door and peered into the classroom.

‘Have you finished?’ he asked coldly. Inside he was praying to any god that might listen that Greyback hadn’t killed or mauled Hermione.

‘We have,’ Fenrir said. His voice sounded more normal, meaning that he had obviously returned to his most human form.

Snape glanced towards the place where he had last seen the couple. The werewolf was sitting on the floor and holding Hermione tenderly, seemingly comforting her. Her body was shaking and she looked unwell again, although Snape wasn’t entirely surprised by that considering what had happened between her and Fenrir.

‘Is Miss Granger all right?’ Snape asked worriedly.   

Fenrir looked intently at the Potions Master. ‘Do you have a sleeping potion handy, Severus?’ he asked. He squeezed Hermione’s hand gently. ‘Give it to Hermione and then we can talk.’

Snape rounded on the werewolf angrily. He had acceded to the beast’s demands against his better judgement already and had no intention of allowing Greyback to continue to dominate the proceedings.

‘I am not just going to give Miss Granger a potion without some explanation of why she needs it, Fenrir. Sleeping draughts can be highly addictive; we don’t just give them out willy-nilly, you know.’

Fenrir sighed and looked pleadingly at the Potions Master. ‘Severus, you have to knock her out for her own good. Please, it’s the only way that Hermione will be safe. Surely you must have realised by now that she’s under an enchantment. But it won’t affect her while she’s unconscious, and it will give me a chance to explain what’s happened. So please . . . for Hermione’s sake, give her the potion.’

Snape stared at the worried werewolf and then at Hermione. She, too, looked pleadingly at him although she didn’t speak.

He sighed loudly then replied caustically, ‘All right, I’ll get Miss Granger something to make her sleep, as you asked so nicely.’

As Snape disappeared back into his office, Fenrir wrapped Hermione more tightly in his arms and gave her a squeeze, kissing the top of her head.

‘The sleeping potion will stop the effects of the charm although I’ll be honest, I don’t know what will happen when you wake up. It may a take a while for the need to build up again or it might be immediate.

‘I’m going to keep you asleep until after Severus and I have had a chance to discuss what’s happened. Hopefully, he’ll be able to help us or at the very least point us in the direction of someone who can,’ Fenrir told Hermione, his voice measured and reassuring.

He leant forward and gave her a small, chaste kiss on the lips. ‘I am not going to abandon you, Hermione, have no fear of that. But nor am I willing to subject you to this any longer. You need to sleep until we can find a way to stop the enchantment. You do understand that, don’t you?’

Hermione gave a small nod but then she smiled seductively. ‘I don’t have to go to sleep just yet, though, Fenrir. I think perhaps we should—’

‘No!’ Fenrir’s voice was loud; his hand grabbing Hermione’s where she had been attempting to take hold of his erection. He gave a low growl. He could already feel the terrible need building inside him again and it had to be affecting Hermione even more. ‘Not again,’ he told her more gently. ‘Your body is too fragile. It can’t take it.’ Almost to himself, he added, ‘Where the hell is Severus? How long does it take to get a bloody potion, for Mani’s sake?’

‘’Well, while we’re waiting . . . .’ Hermione said, her voice husky with desire. 

She lunged for Fenrir once more but the werewolf was quicker. He pushed her away from him, and before she had a chance to do anything other than look surprised at his rejection he stood up and moved away from her. Hermione gave a small whimper and looked as if she was about to cry.

‘I’m sorry, my love,’ Fenrir said. He realised his voice was getting deeper again. He was beginning to change and he couldn’t let that happen, not before Hermione was asleep.

‘Severus, where the hell are you?’ he cried out, sounding angrier. ‘We need the potion now!’

Hermione had moved from her place against the wall, crawling seductively towards Fenrir and he couldn’t stop the low growl of desire that escaped his lips as he looked at her. She was so beautiful, her skin rosy and glowing with her arousal. He had to have her, had to possess her. He growled again and moved to join his lover.

. . . Except that he couldn’t move.

Snape had reappeared in the classroom clutching a small bottle. He lowered his wand as he studied the werewolf and the young woman. The freezing charm had worked on Greyback, but Hermione was still moving towards him, so Snape waved his wand again and then she, too, was still.

‘Give Hermione the sleeping potion, quickly,’ Fenrir said desperately. ‘Make sure you get it to her lips before you remove the freezing charm,’ he added as Snape moved closer to her.

Snape looked as if he was about to protest but he did as Fenrir suggested. He waved his wand and the spell lifted. Hermione was already making a lunge for the werewolf once more but Snape tipped up the bottle he was holding to her lips and some of the liquid went into her mouth, causing her to stop in her tracks.

‘Drink, Hermione,’ Fenrir told her, his voice soothing yet commanding.

Hermione gazed at him with longing for a moment, then took the bottle from Snape and drank deeply of the potion. She looked at Fenrir again.

‘It’s done,’ she said quietly.

Hermione’s eyes closed and she began to crumple. Snape reached forward to catch her before she landed on the floor. She was snoring gently. Her breathing was even and her skin had begun to lose the rosy flush it had gained.

‘Thank Mani for that,’ Fenrir said sounding relieved. ‘You can unfreeze me now, Severus.’

Snape seemed to consider for a moment but then waved his wand so Fenrir could move. The werewolf reached out to take Hermione from him, but Snape shook his head. Fenrir’s eyes narrowed for a moment but then he shrugged.

‘Where are Hermione’s clothes?’

‘In my office,’ Snape said as he walked towards it. He turned to look at the werewolf and added tersely, ‘You could do with putting some clothes on as well. I don’t need to continue seeing you in all your dubious glory, thank you very much.’

‘Jealous?’ Fenrir asked. He smiled wickedly as Snape scowled and gave a grunt before continuing on his way into the office. The werewolf bent down to pick up his robe and put it on as he followed the Potions Master. ‘Of course, I _am_ an impressive specimen, so I can understand why you’d be jealous . . . especially with your scrawny frame, Severus. It’s amazing that Hermione was even considering fucking you . . . although, of course, she had no choice. You were all that was available.’ 

‘I was actually trying to stop her, you know,’ Snape replied coldly.

Fenrir gave a deep and unnerving chuckle. ‘Of course you were, Severus. Do you think I don’t know what you were about to do to her?’ He chuckled again. ‘Of course, I don’t blame you. She is gorgeous, and let’s face it, she was incredibly desperate for a fuck. If I’d been in your position I’d have taken advantage of the situation, too.’

Snape’s face began to turn an ugly shade of puce and he scowled fiercely. ‘You _did_ take advantage of the situation, Greyback.’ The werewolf shrugged again and grinned wolfishly. ‘To be honest, I don’t know what came over me,’ Snape admitted. ‘I did try to stop her, but I don’t know . . . once she took her clothes off it became harder to say no . . . especially when she was so eager.’

‘That’s because of the enchantment,’ Fenrir told him knowledgeably. ‘It’s made Hermione insatiable and pretty damn irresistible, too, although to be fair she was already almost impossible to resist before the charm hit. It was lucky I arrived when I did, to be honest.’

Snape glared at the werewolf before using his wand to open the door to his private quarters, walking through without waiting. He definitely wasn’t sure Fenrir turning up was the best thing that had happened.

‘If she’s going to sleep we might as well put her to bed so she’s comfortable,’ he said.

Snape laid Hermione down on his bed and pulled back the covers, replacing them over the top of her. He looked down at the slumbering young woman, her face soft and untroubled in sleep. Despite the noises he had heard it appeared Greyback had done no physical damage to her, which was a mystery in itself.

From everything Snape knew of the werewolf he would have expected Hermione to be ripped apart, assuming Greyback didn’t decide to have her join his beastly crew — his reputation for savagery and his desire to infect as many people as possible with lycanthropy wasn’t just a story, Snape had seen him in action over the years and was well aware of his ferocity.

But there was something else going on here, something to do with the enchantment that had seen Hermione attempting to seduce him and happily making love with a vicious werewolf, and it had obviously affected Greyback, too. Snape was curious to know what had happened to cause the enchantment and needed to know if there was going to be any chance to help Hermione.

‘I assume you are the one who aided Hermione in her escape from Lucius and gave her your wand?’ he asked Fenrir as he turned away from the bed to look at him.

The werewolf nodded. He was still standing by the bed. ‘I had to get her away from Malfoy Manor, Severus. I put my wand somewhere she could find it, distracted the occupants of the house long enough for her to get out, then came after her as I knew what sort of state she would be in.

‘You saw how quickly her desire builds up, and unfortunately, it never stops. She definitely wasn’t safe at the Manor; at least at Hogwarts, although not entirely ideal as I’m aware I’m not a welcome visitor, no one could abduct her again . . . and to be honest, I was hoping you would be able to help us.’ 

Snape gestured towards the lounge area where there were two leather armchairs in front of the fire. ‘So tell me about this enchantment.’ 

Fenrir ran his large, rough hand gently down Hermione’s face, watching her sleep for a few seconds, then joined Snape by the fire. With his massive frame, he only just managed to fit into the chair even though he was currently in his most human form. He stared at the flames without saying anything for several long minutes, but Snape wasn’t inclined to let him wallow for too long. He needed to know what was going on.

‘Are you ready to talk, Fenrir?’ he asked, pulling the werewolf out of his reverie. ‘What caused the enchantment? I’m guessing it’s affected you as well as Hermione. You seem to have lost your bite.’

Fenrir sighed and rubbed his eyes. ‘It’s true that I have been affected by the enchantment, the same as Hermione has. Of course, I’d heard all the old tales, those stories told by the wolf mothers, but everyone knew they were nothing but stories to scare the young . . . there was no truth in them.’ He gazed back into the fire, and when he spoke again his dark voice sounded desolate. ‘Except it turned out there was.’

‘What are you talking about?’ Snape asked coldly. ‘What happened?’

‘Do you have anything to drink?’ Fenrir asked, ignoring Snape’s question. ‘I could certainly do with one, and so could you, I think.’

After a moment’s thought, Snape nodded and rose from his seat, heading towards a cupboard in the corner of the room. He opened it and pulled out a bottle, then added a couple of glasses to his haul.

‘I’ve got some Ogden’s,’ he said, holding up the bottle.

Fenrir gave a rich chuckle. ‘That’ll put hair on our chest.’

Snape rolled his eyes at the weak joke as he sat down again, already opening the bottle. He poured two large measures into the glasses on the floor at his feet, then recapped the bottle before putting it carefully next to his chair. He picked up the glasses and held one out to Fenrir, who leant forward to take it.

‘So tell me,’ Snape said simply.

‘This is Lucius Malfoy’s fault,’ Fenrir said, his voice a snarl that showed his dislike of the man.

‘Lucius?’ Snape sounded surprised. ‘What does he have to do with the enchantment?’

Fenrir took a large mouthful of his Firewhisky before he told Snape, ‘Everything. We became enchanted because of him and his lust for Hermione.’ 


	3. Chapter 3

‘I really don’t understand what the hell we’re doing here,’ the dark-haired Death Eater moaned. He pulled his cloak tighter around him in an attempt to shield himself from the falling rain as he looked around the silent street. ‘It’s a filthy night and I can’t believe there’s anything important enough going on around here for us to involve ourselves with.’

‘Ours isn’t to question why, Jugson. We just do as we’re told,’ a thick-set man with dripping blond hair announced, sounding as fed-up as his companion. ‘The Dark Lord obviously felt there was _something_ of interest happening so he told Malfoy to look into it. And, for our sins, we get to go along for the ride.’

‘I don’t see _him_ out here in this bloody awful weather, though,’ Jugson said. ‘I bet he’s keeping nice and warm somewhere . . . probably with a nice big roaring fire . . . or some hot, sweet snatch.’ He shivered.

‘You know what a bloody grandstander Malfoy is so, of course, he’ll want to take all the glory. He’s probably in there now taking all the credit for the raid, forgetting that he isn’t working alone. I dunno why we’re always sent to follow _him_. Dolohov’s at least as dedicated to the Dark Lord as Malfoy and at least he’s happy to let _us_ have a bit of fun with the Muggles before we kill them,’ the blond was clearly disgruntled.

‘You’re right, Gibbon,’ Jugson said. ‘Knowing Malfoy, he’s probably getting his leg over right now while leaving us out here to keep guard and when he comes out he’ll expect us to go in there and clear up after him.’

There was a loud crumping noise from inside the building, the sound of glass breaking and various screams of terror. A moment later the door opened and louder noises of people in turmoil assailed the ears of the waiting Death Eaters as a tall figure walked out of the now quite obviously burning building.

‘Make sure no one gets out,’ Lucius Malfoy instructed coldly as he joined Jugson and Gibbon. He didn’t seem to notice the terrible weather. ‘There are three exits. They should all be covered by our people but just go round to make sure,’ he told Jugson. The man nodded and hurried away, eager to be out of Malfoy’s presence. Lucius looked at Gibbon. ‘You stay here and guard that door until Jugson gets back. By then it should all be over and you can leave.’

‘And what are you going to be doing?’ Gibbon asked, trying to keep the bitterness out of his voice.

He peered interestedly at the body slung over Lucius’ shoulder. From what he could see it looked like a young woman, but he wasn’t sure whether she was dead or not. He assumed not otherwise surely Malfoy would have left her in the burning building.

Gibbon wondered who she was as she was clearly not a Death Eater, but just as surely not a Mudblood. Everyone knew Malfoy’s hatred of them ran deeper than anyone’s with maybe the exception of the Dark Lord himself, and it was highly unlikely that he would voluntarily save the life of one.

‘This one is a close friend of Potter,’ Lucius replied, having spotted Gibbon looking at the body he was carrying. ‘I need to get her back to the Dark Lord immediately as she could be of use to us. Now do as I say, and remember, no one gets out alive. It’s vital no one can report her disappearance before we have a chance to get her somewhere impregnable from the blasted Order of the Phoenix and can make use of her.’ 

Grumbling quietly to himself, Gibbon headed towards the door of the building taking no more notice of Lucius Malfoy and his captive. At least he didn’t have to face the Dark Lord in person tonight. In another thirty minutes he would finally be tucked up at home in the warm and dry with his wife and he could forget about what had happened here tonight, including the fact that Malfoy had a girl with him.

Regardless of who she was, she was unlikely to last long, especially if the Dark Lord had taken an interest in her, so it was probably best for him to forget that she had even existed.

Lucius turned back to look at the burning building and sighed. Sometimes he wished he could go on these raids alone. It would be more efficient and the objective, to take out a Transfiguration specialist who had crossed the Dark Lord, would have been achieved quietly and without all this bloodshed.  There was nothing that ruined a raid for him more than a bunch of bloodthirsty Death Eaters looking for a fight . . . or more.

Tonight he’d had no choice but to order that the building be burned to the ground as the vicious werewolf, Fenrir Greyback, had been among the party, and by the time he had finished with his savage assaults on the inhabitants of the building something like two-thirds of them would have ended up joining him as werewolves had they lived. That was why Lucius had set guards on each of the exits, to make sure none of them got out alive.

At least he had managed to Stupefy and take charge of Hermione Granger before the werewolf had got hold of her, although it had been a close-run thing. What he would like to do now was take her somewhere he could keep her safe and wait for her to come round, hopefully, grateful enough with his rescue of her to show her appreciation in a physical way. She was a pretty young thing, after all.

But as one of Potter’s closest friends, and Lucius having been seen taking her by other Death Eaters, he now had no choice but to take Hermione to Voldemort in case she could be of use to his Master. He just hoped it wouldn’t be the last thing she would ever do.

He raised his wand, pointing it towards the building he had just left. _‘Morsmordre!’_ he said loudly, and then he turned away, disgusted, as the Dark Mark filled the sky above the stricken building.      

 

 

* * *

 

 

Hermione sighed when she saw Lucius come into the room. She had been stuck here for well over a week now and he still wouldn’t tell her what was going on. The last thing she remembered was being at a Transfiguration seminar for which Professor McGonagall had put her name forward, which had taken place after school had finished for the day.

Harry and Ron had been unable to understand why she would voluntarily give up one of her evenings for yet more school work, but she had been excited to attend as the seminar had attracted some prestigious speakers and was designed primarily for Muggle-borns who had excelled in one of the trickier fields of magic. The final lecture had finished and they had just handed round a glass of wine and a few nibbles when all hell had broken loose.

Hermione vaguely remembered a hulking great werewolf who had made some rather salacious comments about what he intended to do with her, which apparently didn’t just include turning her into a werewolf. Then there was pain and nothing until she woke up here, although where “here” was she still had absolutely no idea. All she knew was that Lucius Malfoy was a regular visitor.

Lucius had told her she was being held at Voldemort’s request and she had, so he had said, been in the presence of the megalomaniac after being abducted from the seminar. If that was indeed the case, Hermione was glad she had no recollection of it. She remembered Harry’s scary description of Voldemort and had no desire to witness him for herself.

She had no idea what had happened to the others at the conference, either attendees or speakers, and Lucius refused to talk to her about it which made her suspect that the outcome hadn’t been a very good one. Hermione just hoped that the attack by Death Eaters hadn’t been specifically to abduct her. She wasn’t sure she could bear the guilt if that turned out to be the case.

But now, here Lucius was again, carrying a tray containing some dire scraps of food that she would be expected to eat, which obviously meant yet another day without any possibility of release.

Hermione still had no idea why they were holding her although she knew it had something to do with her friendship with Harry. But if Voldemort and his cronies honestly thought he and Ron were going to come riding to her rescue like the Lone Ranger and Tonto, they were all seriously deluded.

She looked on in disgust as Lucius put the tray on the table in front of her and glanced at the stale bread and the hunk of sweaty cheese, a lump of over-pink boiled ham rounding out the meal with a jug of water to wash the food down and her heart sank. Couldn’t she have a salad for once? Did these people never eat vegetables?

‘Have you come to let me go, Mr Malfoy?’ Hermione asked, trying to sound hopeful. It was the same question she asked Lucius every time he came to visit her.

Lucius looked amused. ‘I’ve told you before to call me Lucius, there’s no need for formality here, Hermione. And what on earth makes you think I would be letting you go? You know how valuable you are to us . . . and I enjoy your company so much.’

‘You don’t still seriously believe holding on to me is going to further your cause in any way, do you?’ she asked.

Lucius laughed. ‘We’re holding one of Potter’s closest friends. That gives us a huge advantage.’

‘Harry isn’t stupid enough to fall for your traps,’ Hermione retorted, shaking her head as she spoke. Inside she was praying that this was indeed the case. She knew her friend was more than capable of being an idiot and rushing in without thinking, but surely not over something so important. And anyway, he probably had no better idea than she did of where she was. ‘He’s not going to attempt to rescue me, he knows better than that. So if that’s what you were hoping for you’re going to be disappointed.’

Lucius grinned. ‘We’ll see. Personally, I have slightly less faith in your friend sticking to his guns when he knows we have you. After all, you are the brains of your little group. Neither of your friends could claim that title.’

Hermione shrugged. ‘Harry doesn’t need me in order to do what needs to be done. He’s already well aware of what he has to do, and I can assure you attempting to rescue me doesn’t feature anywhere in those plans.’

‘I don’t believe Potter would sacrifice you,’ Lucius said sharply. ‘Or the Weasley boy, either. You and he are a couple, aren’t you? He’s hardly going to allow his girlfriend to be killed when he could do something to stop it.’

‘Ronald isn’t my boyfriend,’ Hermione replied dismissively. ‘We’re just friends. And he isn’t stupid enough to jeopardise Harry’s chances of defeating Voldemort by attempting to rescue me, either. I’m afraid you made an error in taking me, Mr Malfoy. I’m going to be of no use to you at all.’

Lucius’ gaze was so fervid that Hermione suddenly felt incredibly self-conscious, then he smiled and she felt her blood run cold.

‘Oh, I wouldn’t say that,’ he said and licked his lips salaciously.

 

 

* * *

 

 

‘Unfortunately, we have gained _nothing_ from the girl's capture, Lucius. It appears Potter has no loyalty to his friends after all. He obviously has no intention of allowing himself to be swayed from his current path to rescue the girl, so we may as well dispose of her. I assume I _can_ trust you to accomplish this successfully?’

Lucius bowed his head deferentially but said, ‘I wonder whether I might be allowed to keep her for a while longer, my Lord?’

Voldemort looked enquiringly at the blond-haired Death Eater.

‘Although a Mudblood, Miss Granger is extremely attractive,’ Lucius admitted. ‘It seems a shame to kill her without having a little fun first, especially as I believe she’s still a virgin.’

Voldemort gazed at Lucius, studying him for a moment. ‘You desire the girl,’ he said, his voice a mixture of disgust and amusement.

Lucius shrugged, attempting to look nonchalant. ‘Miss Granger has great magical power, my Lord. In light of her abandonment by Potter and the Order, perhaps with the right sort of . . . encouragement . . . she can be persuaded to aid our cause instead.’

‘I have no need of help from a filthy Mudblood,’ Voldemort retorted coldly.

‘I am aware of that, my Lord,’ Lucius said smoothly, attempting to sooth his master’s ruffled feathers. ‘But it seems short-sighted to cast away the sort of power Miss Granger possesses just because of her blood status, especially when it could be instrumental in bringing about Potter’s downfall.’

Voldemort laughed, cold and high. ‘You make a pretty case, Lucius. Go . . . and indulge your desire for the Mudblood, if you must, but remember that ultimately she is dispensable, so don’t waste time.’

‘Yes, thank you, my Lord,’ Lucius replied. He gave a low, obsequious bow and took his leave.

 

 

* * *

 

 

‘If you were sensible about this your life could be so much better than it is currently,’ Lucius told Hermione. He had come to visit her again, although as ever he was an unwelcome visitor.

She stared at the blond wizard with loathing. ‘I told you before that you might as well kill me, Mr Malfoy. I have no intention of doing anything with you.’

‘That can be arranged,’ Lucius hissed angrily as his temper flared. He glared at her for a moment, his fists clenched, then relaxing them he added more gently, ‘Be sensible about this, Hermione. After all, I’m not asking for too much.’ His hand trailed down her cheek making her shiver.

‘For years, all I’ve heard from you and your horrid son is how I’m not good enough to be a witch, all because of my birth. You’ve abused me and been rude to me and called me foul names. How can that suddenly have changed? You’re a hypocrite, Mr Malfoy,’ Hermione accused as she gazed at him balefully.

Lucius gave a long, loud sigh then his voice became smoother and even more seductive. ‘Are you really so eager for death, Hermione? I’m offering you the chance for survival and I’m not even expecting you to do anything too onerous to achieve it. I’m not asking you to betray or go up against your friends or anything like that which, believe me, would be the usual way for your life to be spared. All I’m asking for is for us to become a little more . . . intimate.’

‘Of course I don’t want to die, but I would never betray or fight against my friends, especially not to save my own life,’ Hermione retorted stoutly. ‘And I have absolutely no interest in having any sort of relationship with you, either . . . especially an intimate one.’ She jerked her head away from his hand.

‘And yet you have no choice in the matter,’ Lucius pointed out. ‘You are kept here only at my whim, and you could be taken away and killed just as easily.’ He grabbed her chin tightly and turned her face up to look at his. ‘You live because I allow it, Mudblood,’ he hissed. ‘The Dark Lord was ready to kill you as you’ve been of no help in trapping Potter, but instead, he gave you to me to have some fun with. I could just as easily torture you to get what I want. The Cruciatus Curse is most effective at getting people to reconsider and it can be so entertaining.’

Hermione was aware that, unfortunately for her, it was probably true that she was only being kept alive because of Lucius’ current desire for her, but that didn’t make her any more receptive to giving in to his demands, not even when he threatened to torture her.

Her insides were squirming with fear. There was nothing she could do to stop him from using any of the Unforgivable Curses on her, and he was right that the Cruciatus Curse would eventually break her. But if that happened she probably wouldn’t care what he did to her sexually because her mind would be completely gone.

‘Go ahead, then,’ she said, hoping her voice didn’t sound as terrified as she felt at that moment. ‘Of course, if you use it enough I’ll end up like Neville’s parents and won’t care what’s happening to me, and somehow I don’t think that’s what you want, is it? You want me to be aware of what you’re subjecting me to, Mr Malfoy, not completely mad.’

‘There are other curses that can be just as effective without causing madness,’ Lucius warned.

‘But you wouldn’t use the Imperius Curse for the same reason,’ Hermione predicted. ‘You could control me, even force me to accept you as a lover, but it wouldn’t be my own free will, and that’s what makes it interesting for you, isn’t it? You want me to want you.’ She shook her head. ‘But I can tell you now that’s never going to happen, however many curses you subject me to.’

‘Those are brave words for a little girl.’ Lucius sounded amused. ‘You’d be amazed at how quickly you would change your mind once the pain started.’ He leant closer so their noses were almost touching, his voice no higher than a whisper as he hissed, ‘And don’t believe for one minute I wouldn’t get pleasure out of watching you in pain because I can assure you I would.’

Hermione couldn’t help the shiver that ran through her body at the sadistic man’s words. Chillingly, she knew he was telling the truth. Lucius grinned nastily and released her chin, then moved away a little.

‘So, would you like to reconsider my offer?’ he asked, sounding magnanimous.

Hermione looked at the floor for a moment as if considering. She tried to calm her racing mind, her stomach that was doing somersaults, her guts twisting with fear. This was probably going to be the most painful, if not the actual last moment of her life, as she had no doubt what Lucius’ reaction would be to her response, but she had to find the strength to say the words and make them sound like she meant them.

‘Mr Malfoy, you are the last person in the world I would ever be intimate with,’ she told him honestly as she looked at him with utter hatred.

Lucius’ reaction was immediate and expected.

_‘Crucio!’_ he screamed in fury, his wand pointed at her.

Hermione was hit with a pain so intense it consumed all other thought or feeling. It completely surrounded her, the points of thousands of white-hot knives piercing her skin and causing agony like she had never felt before. She dropped to the floor, writhing; her hands grabbed her head, squeezing as if to stop it from bursting as the pain coursed through it and she screamed, long and loud.

Lucius watched her with interest for several minutes, then ended the curse, his lips curling into a cruel smile as the screaming finally subsided. Hermione continued to writhe in pain, the aftershock of the curse still working its way through her body. He looked down at her with disdain.

‘Let’s see how you feel once you’ve had a chance to recover,’ he said smugly, and he turned and walked away, leaving Hermione lying shaking on the floor.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Hermione’s heart sank when she heard the footsteps stop outside the door. It wasn’t time for food so it had to be Lucius returning to repeat his offer. In truth, she was actually surprised it had taken the Death Eater so long to seek her out, although she supposed the idea was to wait until she had completely recovered from the curse he had cast on her.

It was astonishing and not a little disconcerting to realise just how long it had taken for the effects to wear off completely, considering how short a time he had left her writhing in agony under the curse itself.

When she had thought about the Cruciatus Curse previously, without any idea of the pain it actually caused, she had always assumed that Neville’s parents had been tortured for hours to have ended up the way they were, but she now realised their madness had been achieved far more speedily although knowing the sadistic bitch who had inflicted the torture she was sure Bellatrix and her comrades would have continued long after the couple had lost their minds.

This gave Hermione a little comfort, knowing both that the Longbottoms’ suffering had been less than she had imagined, and that when Lucius cast the Cruciatus Curse upon her again, as he would be sure to do once she gave him her answer, her pain would be curtailed by the fracturing of her sanity. The pain would continue — that she knew — but in her madness she wouldn’t care and might even draw strength from it.

Despite being completely terrified about what was about to happen, Hermione was glad that Lucius had finally come as waiting for his return was almost a torture in itself. There had been a certain amount of panic as she had wondered worriedly whether he might come to her in the night and force himself upon her, knowing she was unlikely to give in to his demands. But she had been right about the blond Death Eater’s need for her to submit willingly, so he had waited, banking on the pain of the curse to change her mind.

He was going to be bitterly disappointed.

Hermione didn’t move as the door opened nor did she make any effort to look at the man who entered. Instead, she picked at her nails, fully absorbed in removing the dirt that had built up under them.

‘I trust you are completely recovered from your punishment?’ Lucius asked smoothly once he realised she had no intention of looking at him.

After another couple of seconds, Hermione finally raised her head to glare at Lucius. ‘Punishment . . . is that what you call it?’ Her voice was thick with disgust.

‘Would you prefer the term demonstration?’ Lucius asked mildly, sounding amused. ‘It was a _demonstration_ of the _punishment_ you can expect to receive when you defy me, Hermione. You defied me with your refusal to see reason, to accept the logical course, and so I punished you. I assume the lesson has been sufficiently well learned?’

‘As far as I can see it’s made no difference at all,’ Hermione said bravely. ‘It certainly hasn’t changed my mind in any way . . . about anything.’

‘Really? Are you ready to feel the bite of the Cruciatus Curse once more?’ Lucius asked threateningly.

Hermione shrugged. ‘That’s up to you, Mr Malfoy. Obviously, I have no desire to be tortured any further by your curses but then giving myself to you would be torture for me, too — both would be equally painful for me. I lose, whatever happens, so you may do as you will.’

Lucius, looking furious, pulled his wand on Hermione and waved it in her face.

‘I could make you scream forever,’ he hissed.

Hermione nodded. ‘You could. As I said, it’s your choice.’

For a moment there was silence as she waited for the curse to come but then Lucius lowered his wand.

‘You hope to goad me into killing you or driving you mad,’ he said, sounding impressed. ‘However, that isn’t going to happen, at least not at the moment. I will admit I’m rather disappointed that you haven’t chosen to see sense, Hermione, but I believe you still have a chance for redemption.’

Hermione sighed and shook her head. She knew she was being antagonistic but somehow she just couldn’t stop herself.

‘What does it take to make you realise that I will never willingly let you touch me?’ she asked. ‘You’ve used an Unforgivable Curse on me and yet still I won’t let you. There is _nothing_ you can do that will convince me to accept you as a lover, and I mean nothing, Mr Malfoy. So do as you will. It makes no difference to me.’

A look of fury crossed Lucius’ face at Hermione’s words but once again he managed to calm himself. He reached out to grab her arm and roughly pulled her into a standing position.

‘We’ll see about that,’ he said, a cold smile appearing on his face. ‘But first, you need to get cleaned up. You’ve been here for a while and could do with a bath. I have no intention of touching you while you’re filthy.’

Still holding onto Hermione’s arm, Lucius pulled her across the floor towards the door. Her stomach was doing the twisting somersaults it always did when she was with Lucius, knowing that bad things were coming. But at least he was going to give her a chance to have a bath and wash her hair. For that, at least, she would be grateful.

‘Thank you,’ she said quietly as they walked down the corridor. ‘A bath would be wonderful. Can I have some clean clothes, too?’

‘I’m not sure you need clothes,’ Lucius replied blithely. He smirked at her.

‘I get that you’re desperate to see me naked,’ Hermione said. She saw Lucius scowl at the comment. ‘But I am not an animal nor am I a naturist and whilst I am your prisoner, denying me clothes is a pretty low thing to do. Although I suppose if you intend to torture me again it doesn’t make much difference, does it, as I won’t care once I’m mad.’

They stopped in front of a door and Lucius opened it with his wand, pushing Hermione inside.

The bathroom was impressive, she had to concede; it certainly wasn’t the place she was usually taken when she needed to use the toilet. That room was small, containing only the basics — the toilet and a small hand basin with which she had vainly attempted to keep herself clean.

Although still not huge, this bathroom was beautifully decorated. The three walls that didn’t contain a window were covered in exceptionally realistic murals of what appeared to be the Tuscan countryside and the ceiling showed azure blue sky dotted with occasional tufts of fluffy white clouds. The window, which took up most of the fourth wall, let in a good quantity of light while revealing nothing through the frosted glass.

The wash basin was almost large enough to be a bath and the fixtures were gold and ornate in design. In the middle of the room, taking pride of place, was a massive claw-footed roll-top bath that almost made Hermione sigh with pleasure. To the right of the bath, a low table was stacked with piles of fluffy white towels in different sizes.

Lucius watched Hermione’s reaction at the sight of the bathroom and smiled. It was possible that he wouldn’t need to physically torture the beautiful young witch any further. Perhaps all she needed was a little pampering instead.

Well, he could certainly provide that and then, maybe, once she realised what she could gain from the relationship, she would be more amenable to his advances. He could give her pleasure, too, if she would just let him; he had never meant for the enjoyment to be his alone.

‘There’s plenty of hot water so use as much as you like,’ Lucius told Hermione, indicating the bath. He pointed to a cupboard that was well-concealed. ‘There is a range of bath products in there. I’m sure you’ll find one that will suit.’ He paused for a moment, then added, ‘I shall return in forty-five minutes. I assume that will give you sufficient time?’

Three-quarters of an hour in the bath sounded like heaven to Hermione at that moment. She found herself smiling at the blond man as an unexpected rush of good feeling towards him ran through her.

‘This bathroom is absolutely fantastic. Thank you so much for letting me use it, Mr Malfoy,’ she gushed, seemingly unable to stop herself.

Lucius smiled in return. ‘It is a pleasant place for a bath,’ he acknowledged, then gave her a small bow. ‘I shall leave you to your ablutions, Hermione. I’ll see you in forty-five minutes . . . and please, call me Lucius.’

As the door closed behind him, Hermione released the sigh she had been holding inside. She didn’t care that Lucius had just locked her in here, as she was sure he had. She had nowhere to go if she left the bathroom and no idea how to get out of the building. At the moment, her only desire was to get into that wonderful bath and clean herself properly.

She walked over to the cupboard Lucius had indicated and looked at the various bottles stored there. As he said, there was a huge range, catering for all tastes. Hermione selected a shampoo and conditioner that she hoped might do good things to her ever-wayward hair, then spent a couple of minutes deciding on the bubbles she wanted. Decision made, she turned on the taps in the bath to fill it as she undressed, glad to remove the filthy clothes.

Hermione wondered whether Lucius really did intend to make her go naked but as she stepped into the bath and sank beneath the soothing warm water complete with almond-scented bubbles she realised she didn’t really care at that moment.

The man had been completely honest and upfront with her about his desires, and him wanting to see her naked wasn’t really any big surprise. Of course, it was intended to put her at a disadvantage, making her feel uncomfortable and embarrassed. Perhaps he thought she would be easier to manipulate in that state.

The truth was that although Hermione knew she would feel both those things, she would at least be clean and she would still be in control. Lucius wanted her to submit to him, but however much he tried to shame her or even pamper her, as he was doing with this bath, she still had no intention of giving him what he wanted.

She looked around the room, enjoying the feel of the hot water and the smell of the almonds, the well-executed paintings and the warm sunlight coming through the window giving her surroundings an air of reality. She _was_ in an almond orchard in Tuscany not held captive in a building that she was beginning to suspect was Malfoy Manor.

Hermione sighed happily and closed her eyes. This was true bliss.


	4. Chapter 4

When Lucius returned to the bathroom, Hermione was still in the bath, drowsing happily in the water that she had refreshed several times. He smiled as he walked towards the tub, taking in the scent of almonds.

‘I take it you’ve enjoyed the bath?’ he asked.

Hermione jerked awake at his voice, looking confused for a moment. Then she remembered where she was.

‘It’s been wonderful,’ she admitted. ‘I’m not sure I want to get out.’

Lucius looked amused. ‘You won’t be wanting these, then?’ He held out a small bundle of something that might well be clothing.

Hermione looked at them, a little surprised that he was going to allow her to dress after all.

He put the bundle on a chair near the door then moved back over to the table, selecting a bath sheet from the pile which he flicked open and held up in front of the bath.

‘While I’m glad you enjoyed your bath, Hermione, we really do have to be getting on. So get out now.’ As he spoke Lucius’ voice lost some of its warmth, becoming more commanding by the final sentence.

Hermione was about to retaliate automatically but just about managed to rein herself in. Lucius had allowed her the luxury of having a bath and had brought her clean clothes to wear, and she was getting wrinkled from sitting in the rapidly cooling water for so long, anyway.

Lucius didn’t look away as Hermione stood up and climbed out of the bath, his pale grey eyes examining every inch of her body as she walked into the towel. She tried not to cringe or blush with embarrassment at the intrusive gaze. But he didn’t comment or touch her, merely wrapped the towel around her and stepped back, waiting while she fiddled with it to make herself more respectable.

‘I shall wait outside for you. Don’t be long,’ he said, his voice sounding husky.

Hermione picked up a smaller towel to wrap around her head. ‘What about my hair?’ she asked. ‘’If I don’t dry it properly it’ll explode all over the place. It really is a complete nightmare.’

‘Don’t worry about your hair,’ Lucius advised. ‘Just get dressed and meet me outside.’

He opened the door and exited, closing it behind him. Hermione stared at the door for a moment. She knew she couldn’t stay in the bathroom for much longer and she didn’t want to risk Lucius’ wrath or he might decide clothes weren’t necessary after all. The few seconds she had already spent naked in his presence were more than sufficient to make her realise she didn’t want to go through that again.

She looked at the small pile of items he had left on the chair. It appeared that Lucius didn’t believe in underwear, or maybe he just didn’t have anything in her size, she was far better endowed in all departments than his stick-thin wife, after all.

Hermione picked up the shirt and examined it. It was white cotton, quite a bit larger than her, and had lace at the cuffs and down the front. She strongly suspected that it belonged to Lucius or one of his male ancestors rather than Narcissa. She opened a couple of the buttons and put it on over her head, looking at herself in the mirror. Fortunately, it was long, enough so to cover her bottom and thighs as Lucius was particularly tall, especially next to her. But it was baggy enough to be a sack and looked awful.

She turned back to the chair to see what else, if anything, Lucius had left her. She laughed and shook her head when she saw the silk stockings he had also provided. Trust him to be a typical male pervert. Well, she wasn’t wearing those. There were silky chiffon scarves too, several of them in various different colours although she wasn’t entirely sure why.

Hermione picked up one of the scarves and tied it around her waist, pulling the shirt into something slightly more figure-fitting. She looked critically at the mirror again, bending down and over to see the effect the shortened length had. As long as she stayed standing upright she wasn’t showing her bottom, but she really wished she had at least a pair of knickers.

She debated for a moment as she continued to look at the chair and then used two of the remaining scarves to fashion a very rudimentary and not awfully comfortable thong-type covering. It wasn’t in any way stylish, but at least it covered her up, which was her only real concern.

Hermione looked at the chair once more. The stockings were still there, as were a pair of soft slippers. She ignored the stockings and picked up the shoes, dropping them to the floor. She worked her feet into the slippers as she rubbed at her hair with the towel, attempting to dry it. There was nothing she could do to make it better so she ignored it and folded the towel, then reached for the larger sheet and folded that too, leaving them hanging over the edge of the bath.

She stared at the pile of dirty clothes on the floor and considered for a moment. Her underwear was in there, but it was filthy and she didn’t want to put it back on. Now that she was clean and wearing fresh clothes, however sparse, the idea of putting on dirty, smelly ones really didn’t appeal.

Hermione wished she’d had the foresight to think about washing them while she was in the bath, but it was too late now. At least she was covered and maybe if she managed to survive that long, Lucius would eventually clean and return her old clothes to her.

There was a knock on the door.

‘Are you ready? What on earth is taking you so long?’ The door opened and Lucius looked her up and down. ‘Leave your clothes and come with me,’ he commanded.

Hermione dropped the clothes she had just picked up and followed Lucius out of the door. Instead of taking her back to her room he led her the other way, down the corridor until they reached the stairs.

‘I see you decided against the stockings,’ Lucius observed. He sounded amused.

‘I had no need for them,’ Hermione said. ‘You would have been better off providing some underwear. Knickers are far more useful than stockings.’

‘But nowhere near as arousing,’ Lucius pointed out. ‘Perhaps I should have ordered you to wear them.’

‘It’s the only way I would have done,’ Hermione countered.

She followed Lucius down the stairs and into a huge entrance hall. A moment later they entered a dining room with a large table set with two place settings at the end nearest the door. Lucius indicated where Hermione should sit, and as she moved there he threw the stockings onto the table mat in front of her.

‘Put the stockings on,’ he said coldly. He sat down in his own seat next to her at the head of the table and waited.

Hermione looked at the stockings, frowning. She hadn’t seen him pick them up. With a sigh, she took hold of one and leant down to put it on. She could feel Lucius watching her as she did so. A few seconds later she reached for the second and put that on too.

‘That’s better. Now you just need to undo a few buttons. You look far too stuffy with it done right up to the neck like that,’ Lucius told her sounding smug. He was obviously enjoying his moment of control.

He indicated her throat and waited while Hermione undid first one, then a second and finally, extremely unhappily as it showed rather more cleavage than she was happy with considering the lack of underwear, a third.

His eyes raked over her for a moment, then he grinned. ‘Now, let’s eat. I don’t know about you but I’m starving.’

Hermione didn’t say anything but waited as house-elves appeared, seemingly from nowhere, carrying trays. They laid them on the table and paused for a moment as Lucius inspected the dishes, then left the couple alone once more.

Lucius picked up a bottle of wine and poured it into two glasses, one of which he passed to Hermione. She looked at the glass for a moment then put it down on the table and stared at the dishes of food.

‘Do you like shellfish?’ Lucius asked as he began to spoon a rice dish onto his plate. ‘It’s seafood risotto.’

Hermione gave a small nod. She could feel her stomach rumbling, fortunately silently at the moment, the smell of the food enough to cause that. Although she hadn’t been starved since being taken prisoner, the small meals she had received had been of poor quality and not at all appetising. The risotto looked like a banquet compared to her usual fare.

Lucius held out the plate to her and Hermione took it. They ate in silence. Hermione had poured a goblet of water to drink instead of the wine as she realised she was thirsty and didn’t want to drink too much alcohol. When Lucius noticed this and scowled, she picked up her wine before he could say anything and took a tentative but very small sip.

While she still had no intention of giving in to Lucius, however well he fed her, drunk it might be a different story and at the very least she would be less able to defend herself against his advances. She needed to keep a clear head, although the wine was extremely tasty as long as she just sipped it slowly.

The next course was once again served by Lucius as if he was her own personal waiter. He passed her a larger plate containing steak in a red wine and mushroom sauce, served with asparagus and artichokes. Something tickled at the edges of Hermione’s mind as she looked at the dish, but soon she was too preoccupied with eating it to think about the ingredients and why they bothered her.

It was when Lucius served the dessert, a dark chocolate and salted caramel tart accompanied by thick yellow clotted cream and large plump strawberries whose tips had been dipped in matching dark chocolate, that Hermione realised what her brain had been connecting.

The food, delicious as it was, wasn’t just a feast for the senses: it was a seduction. Everything Lucius had given her, with the exception of the glass of water, was famed for its aphrodisiacal properties — if you believed in that sort of thing . . . and Lucius obviously did.

Hermione wasn’t sure that she did, although she was feeling pleasantly sated after all the good food and far more relaxed than she had been since she was first abducted. Despite the fact that they had hardly spoken since entering the dining room, Lucius was an excellent dining companion and, she realised, far more handsome than she had originally thought, despite his age.

Seeing her looking at him he smiled and raised his wine glass before taking a sip. Hermione watched him, unable to take her eyes off his lips and the way they caressed the glass. She gave a small shiver as he finished drinking and licked his lips, slowly and seductively, knowing she was watching his every movement. Then she jumped as his hand touched her thigh nearest to him, fingers brushing at the top of the stocking, causing a little tickling sensation that ran right through her.

Hermione pulled her leg away, noticing the angry expression that crossed Lucius’ face as she did so. A large part of her was cautioning Hermione not to upset Lucius when things were going so well, but another part of her that was fighting against the feeling the meal had invoked was telling her she had to fight it, had to get away from Lucius before something bad happened, something she would surely regret.

She took a deep breath and said, ‘While I very much appreciate the wonderful bath — and this delicious meal has been so much better than the stuff you usually give me — it doesn’t in any way change my feelings about you, Mr Malfoy. I’m sure all of this was supposed to be some sort of grand seduction, but I’m afraid it didn’t work. I still have no desire or intention for any sort of relationship with you, especially an intimate one.’

‘Is that so?’ Lucius replied a touch waspishly. Before Hermione realised what he was doing he leant towards her once more and forced his hand up between her legs. ‘Then perhaps I should just take what I want and not worry about how you feel about it.’ He looked at her in confusion. ‘What the hell is that? I didn’t give you any underwear.’

Hermione, whose heart had almost stopped when Lucius tried to grope her, felt a sudden rush of relief as she remembered the makeshift knickers. They had been enough to stop him from touching her skin. But Lucius grabbed hold of the material and pulled, and the badly knotted garment fell apart under the strain. Hermione hurriedly pushed her chair back and stood up, moving out of Lucius’ reach as he stared at the scarves.

‘You think you’re so clever, don’t you?’ he growled, his voice positively glacial now as anger surfaced once again. ‘But don’t worry, _Mudblood_ , you are going to give yourself to me . . . and gratefully. I can assure you of that.’

Hermione shook her head. Bravely she insisted, ‘I told you before, Mr Malfoy, it doesn’t matter how much you torture me, I will never be yours. You are the last person in the world I would ever choose as a lover.’

Lucius clenched his fist around the material that was still in his hand, his face fierce. Then with a wicked smile, he opened his palm and brought the scarf to his nose, making a big show of sniffing it. Hermione stared at him in horror and embarrassment.

‘I can assure you that you will give yourself to me . . . you’re even going to beg me to do it, and there will be no torture involved,’ he said, his voice back to being deep and husky. ‘You will be mine . . . and sooner than you think.’ Once again he began to smell the material, sniffing deeply.

Hermione shook her head again but had nothing to say this time. She was getting freaked out by his show with the scarf and it was making her stomach twist in that way she hated so much. She had no idea why Lucius was so convinced that she was going to give in to him. She had already proved torture didn’t work, but then again he had said he wasn’t going to torture her. Did that mean he had drugged her in some way in order to remove her free will?

She looked back at the table. Perhaps he had put something in the food. But that didn’t seem quite right either. If Lucius was going to take her by force he could have done that at any time, he wouldn’t have needed to go through his seduction scenario. He really was still expecting her to give herself to him willingly, but she had absolutely no idea why.

‘Mmmm, you smell good,’ Lucius said, his voice sounding salacious now. ‘I can’t wait to get more intimate with that particular area of your body.’ He licked his lips lewdly, the move not lost on Hermione, and she shivered. Then he licked the material. ‘I can’t decide whether to get you to sit on my face or whether to tie you down and tease you with my tongue until you beg me to stop.’ He chuckled as he looked at Hermione’s stricken face, clearly enjoying her discomfort. He waved his hand dismissively. ‘Actually, it doesn’t really matter. You and I will be doing _everything_ I’ve ever thought about doing with you. You’re not going to be able to move, let alone walk, by the time I’ve finished with you.’

He stood up now and moved towards Hermione. She seemed to be frozen in place, desperately trying not to visualise the things Lucius was talking about doing to her. One hand took hold of her arm, the other began to stroke her cheek.

‘And I promise you, you are going to absolutely love it, Hermione,’ Lucius finished, his voice soft and seductive. Hermione shivered again and her stomach flipped.

‘I don’t know what you think you’re going to do to make me change my mind but I know I won’t,’ Hermione replied adamantly. She was aware she sounded scared and cursed herself for it.

‘Ah, so eager to find out,’ Lucius said. There was amusement mixed in with the seduction now. ‘So, now the meal’s over, let’s go and play.’

Play? What did he mean, play? Hermione’s heart suddenly beat faster again and her stomach twisted, the rich food she had just eaten making her feel sick now.

‘I’ve invited a few of my friends round,’ Lucius said conversationally as he led her towards the door. ‘It should be an entertaining evening and I think I can guarantee that by the end of it, you and I will have had a good night.’ He winked at her as he led her into another room.

There were already several other people inhabiting the room, all with drinks and all talking loudly. Hermione looked around and realised that they were probably all Death Eaters. They were definitely all male. She could feel herself being scrutinised in return as she walked through the room with Lucius and couldn’t help but feel extremely vulnerable and rather too aware of her lack of underwear.

‘Relax, Hermione, this is supposed to be fun,’ Lucius whispered in her ear, clearly relishing her uneasiness. ‘Aren’t you enjoying yourself?’

Hermione felt herself shiver again. She still had no idea what Lucius was up to but this wasn’t helping either to relax her or to make her feel any more likely to want to sleep with him.

He passed her a glass of wine, which she was holding on to but not really drinking. Instead, she was taking it, in turn, to gaze at each group of Death Eaters, which was how she finally realised that she knew how Lucius expected to get her submit to him.

Suddenly it became clear that he intended to prove her claim, that he was the last man in the world she would get intimate with, to be a lie. Hurriedly she began to study the men in the room more closely, needing to make sure that what she had told him was true. But it didn’t take long before she realised Lucius had her trapped.

Most of the blond Death Eater’s colleagues were the same age or older than him, which wasn’t really a surprise as they were the core of Voldemort’s followers who had been with him since the first war. The main difference was that Lucius was handsome, unlike most of the others. Some of them were so physically repugnant that Hermione felt sick as she imagined having to be intimate with any of them.

As she looked at a man who she had gathered from the conversation was called Rodolphus, she knew with a sinking heart that there was absolutely no way on earth she would ever let him lay a single finger on her. Lucius Malfoy, for all his faults, was definitely a better bet than this man.

There were others, too, who she knew she would be unable to allow anywhere near her: a couple of them so old that they would have made Professor Dumbledore seem like a youngster, and one whose face was so twisted that she couldn’t even look at him properly as his squinty eyes were making her feel nauseated.

It wasn’t all bad, though. There were a couple of younger men who seemed okay although they wouldn’t have been Hermione’s natural choice for a lover, and there were several middle-aged men who seemed normal enough except for being Death Eaters.

However, Hermione was sure that when it came to choosing his rival Lucius wasn’t going to choose one of the youngsters or the good-looking man with his dark hair in a ponytail who she had seen talking to several of the groups. Even Lucius had to have realised she would defy him with someone like that. But against the man with the squint or one of the other horrors Lucius would be onto a sure-fire winner and faced with that choice Hermione wasn’t at all certain she would be able to stick to her promise to herself not to submit to him.

As she watched and waited a terrible vision entered Hermione’s mind of Lucius pairing her with each of the men one after another to see what her reaction would be. She could feel herself shaking and tears welled up in her eyes as she considered what that would mean for her.

She took a large mouthful of her wine, then took a deep breath. That was a ridiculous thought. Lucius wouldn’t offer her out like that as he had to be aware that she would accept most of them, even if only to spite him, and she knew he wanted her to himself.

When the contest came, and she was convinced now that was what was going to happen, it would be with one of the ones she couldn’t even consider. Eventually, Lucius was going to get his way, and Hermione knew he would make her pay for her defiance in every way possible.

It depressed her to think that all her weeks of resistance were going to fall at this final hurdle and it hurt, even more, to realise that she had subjected herself to the Cruciatus Curse for no good reason. It was even possible that had she given Lucius what he wanted when he first suggested it she might have been free by now, returned to Hogwarts and the safety of the castle, impregnable from Death Eaters and hidden away from Voldemort.    

‘Anyone taken your fancy?’ Lucius asked, causing Hermione to jump in surprise. She hadn’t realised he was standing there.

He was carrying two more glasses of wine. Lucius handed one of them to Hermione and took her almost empty glass from her. He grinned when Hermione’s face paled at his comment. He had been watching her looking around at the various men in the room and wondering if she had finally worked out how he was going to get her to agree to be his lover.

Looking at her expression he thought she had, and he could feel the excitement rising within him. Tonight he was, at last, going to get to experience that which he had wanted so badly for so long. He was going to relieve the gorgeous and extremely desirable Hermione Granger of her virginity and introduce her to every possible way of making love he could imagine — and Lucius prided himself on his extremely vivid imagination.

Having seen Hermione’s reaction to some of the guests, he already knew exactly who to choose to ensure she capitulated and gave him what he wanted, but he had no intention of letting the tension end for her just yet. Instead, he was going to make her wait for the whole evening, vulnerable and almost naked until eventually, she might even beg him to end the torment and take her to bed.

He wandered off to put down the empty glass and to talk to a group of friends that he hadn’t yet said hullo to, knowing the whole time that Hermione was watching him and the others with building desperation.


	5. Chapter 5

Hermione had suffered the most uncomfortable and unnerving evening she had ever spent with other people. Although her friendship with Ron, and particularly with Harry, had put her in plenty of difficult situations over the years she didn’t think she had ever felt quite so scared, embarrassed, miserable and unclean all at the same time.

Although she was fairly certain Lucius realised that she knew what he was going to do he forced her to spend several more hours at a party that was growing ever more raucous. As the Death Eaters became more rambunctious from the free-flowing alcohol their comments became louder, more overtly sexual, and in several cases quite malicious and misogynistic. And, as the only woman there, everything was directed at Hermione.

The way she was dressed didn’t help. It was bad enough that she was wearing those stockings that weren’t quite hidden by the shirt, which she was now wishing she had left baggy, although maybe with so many buttons undone it wouldn’t have helped. She wasn’t sure whether it was obvious that she was wearing no underwear — despite the fact that anyone half blind would have been able to see she wasn’t wearing a bra — or whether Lucius had told his friends about her lack of knickers.

Whatever the case she found herself with her back against the wall, body tensed defensively, as man after disgusting man came to talk to her, each of them leering and full of filthy desires that they were so eager to share with Hermione they made her feel dirty and urgently in need of another bath.

But at least they hadn’t touched her. However lewd they got — and Hermione was amazed at some of the things that had been suggested to her — Lucius didn’t actually allow them to lay a finger on her.

There was a moment of pure terror when she realised the werewolf who had attacked at the seminar was at the party and heading her way. Hermione already remembered with disgust the things he had threatened to do to her. There was a few seconds when it looked as if he had no intention of following Lucius’ command to leave her untouched, and she wasn’t at all sure that the blond Death Eater would be able to control him if he decided to attack.

Lucius Malfoy was tall and thin, graceful, beautiful and cruel but he would be no match for the beast that was almost the complete antithesis of him. The werewolf was massive, both height-wise and in bulk, even in his most human form, and this evening Hermione wasn’t at all sure he was in his most human form. He was grey, hairy and savage with long yellow teeth, and he scared the life out of her.  

She vaguely remembered that Professor Lupin had talked about him, had told them about the vicious animal that had ruined his life and turned him into a werewolf when he was only a child. Fenrir Greyback, she remembered, had no compassion or kindness. His only desire was to turn as many people as possible into werewolves . . . and to have his pleasures from those who took his fancy.

Hermione held her breath as he approached, worried that her shaking would be commented on, probably with relish at the fear he was inducing in her. But before he could get too close, Lucius moved in and diverted his path, leading him over to join another group instead. The werewolf was clearly not happy about this and for the rest of the evening Hermione felt him watching her even when she was unable to see him. The tension in the room built, both from the worry she felt about what he could potentially do and from Lucius’ games, which surely must be about ready to end.

She breathed a huge sigh of relief when the werewolf, apparently tiring of the small talk the occupants of the party were engaged in and aware that Lucius was going to allow him to get no closer to Hermione than he already had, decided to leave. While she still didn’t feel comfortable, the whole atmosphere of the party seemed to lift at his departure and Hermione could feel some of the tension leaving her. Not much, though, as she knew she still had to face Lucius later and his friends were still making lewd comments and looking at her in a way that made her feel sick.

Then the alcohol dried up and the men were beginning to drift away, Lucius clearly having decided the party should be over.

Hermione couldn’t help but feel relieved although she knew things weren’t about to get any better for her. It wouldn’t be long before she would be made to choose Lucius, and then god only knew what lay in store for her. At least she hadn’t chickened out and begged him to take her away from the party. If that was what he had been hoping to achieve by exposing her to all those hideous misogynists then he had failed in that just as he had failed with the Cruciatus Curse. At least Hermione could be proud of herself for that.

But there was to be no pride over what was to follow, of that she was certain. When Lucius took her to his bed Hermione knew he would do everything in his power to assert his total dominance over her and make her pay for her refusal to submit earlier. He would strip her pride from her as surely as the flimsy clothes she was wearing, and if he was as thorough about it as she expected him to be — his own pride had, after all, been dented when she rejected him time and again — then it was unlikely she would recover from the experience.

Lucius might just as well kill her as she would have nothing left to live for by the time he finished with her. Perhaps the Cruciatus Curse and madness were the better options, but Lucius was surely aware of that, too, which was why he hadn’t cursed her again.

So here she stood in the now empty room, waiting for Lucius to return with the man he had chosen as his competition. Hermione wished she had the strength to fight him, to reject him once again, but she knew that with the stress she was feeling, which had been carefully cultivated by Lucius all evening, if “Squinty” or any of the others came anywhere near her she would probably scream and would definitely burst into tears.

As much as she hated to admit it, Lucius had won and now Hermione just wanted to get it over and done with. She was weary, bone-tired, and on the verge of completely breaking down.

But Lucius didn’t come back for her and for the next twenty minutes Hermione stood, not moving, inside the room wondering what was going on. As she stood there she debated her chances of escaping but knew that realistically they were pretty much non-existent otherwise Lucius would never have left her without some sort of security.

He and his friends were likely to be using the front door and the drive. Even if she managed to find a way out of the building elsewhere and without being seen, and she strongly suspected that all possible exits would have wards on them, she didn’t have her wand and would be forced to flee on foot, almost naked, and it surely wouldn’t be long before Lucius caught up with her, if one of his freakish friends didn’t first. She shuddered at that thought and stayed where she was.

She shuddered at that thought and stayed where she was.

Hermione had just begun to wonder whether Lucius was ever going to come back, not sure whether this was yet another way of him drawing out her discomfort, when he returned, his face still bearing that smug look she hated so much. He beamed when he realised she hadn’t moved and walked towards her, his arms raised as if to pull her into his embrace.

‘Are you finally ready for us to get intimate, Hermione?’ he asked pleasantly, his voice that lush drawl that promised much.

Hermione swallowed hard. She knew she should just give in and get it over and done with. Lucius was a good-looking man, after all; surely sex with him wouldn’t be _that_ bad, would it? And maybe, if she played it right and did everything he asked without complaining she could get him to curb his desire to hurt and humiliate her that she was sure was simmering away beneath the surface. Her pride wouldn’t survive the encounter but if she could get him to relent just a little she might come through it intact and maybe even be stronger for the experience.

She wasn’t sure why she was still so completely opposed to a relationship with the handsome man, who probably could pleasure her in the way he had promised, except that his insistence that she would bow to his will combined with his complete lack of respect for who and what she was automatically made her want to say no. But stupidly, even knowing the game he had planned if she dared to reject him again, she was intrigued to know which one of them he was going to use against her.

Hermione shook her head. ‘I’m sorry, Mr Malfoy, but my opinion hasn’t changed. I still have no desire to get intimate with you. I’m afraid your party didn’t work, either.’

Lucius stopped walking and glared at Hermione furiously, his fists clenched in that way she now knew so well, but after a few deep breaths, he managed to relax his face back into something more reasonable.

‘Why do you insist on continuing with this pointless charade when you know it’s only a matter of time before you give me what I want?’ He asked the question calmly but his voice was much colder now. Lucius' eyes glittered maliciously as he continued, ‘I saw how you reacted to the attention you received at the party. They were all extremely vocal in their desires, weren’t they? And do you know what? I think every single one of those men would happily follow through on what they suggested, given the opportunity.’ He grinned again as Hermione shivered. His voice was back to being seductive now as he added, ‘I could give you so much pleasure, Hermione. I can make your first time something truly special if you just give me the chance.’

Hermione’s head dropped as she thought about what he was saying.

 _Just say yes_ , a little voice in her brain told her, sounding desperate. _Just say yes and it will all be over, apart from the sex, and Lucius will keep his promise and make it good because he wants you to adore him_.       

‘What’s the matter, cat got your tongue?’ Lucius asked gently. He had moved again, close enough to touch her now. He put his hand under Hermione’s chin to pull her face up to look at him. ‘Feeling embarrassed about giving in to me after all your bluster? Don’t worry, sweetheart, it’s just between us. It’ll be our little secret,’ he whispered, and then he grinned that smug grin.

Hermione looked him straight in the eyes and shook her head as she silently mouthed the word no.

‘You’re not still saying no,’ Lucius said sounding astonished. His voice turned cold again. ‘You know what’s going to happen next, and you know you will finally choose me, so why not be sensible and take the easy path?’

‘I don’t want to have sex with you,’ Hermione admitted quietly. ‘I never have done, and nothing you can do will ever change that, Mr Malfoy.’

‘I’ve told you to call me Lucius,’ he told her sharply. ‘I happen to know you’re wrong in your assertion . . . but if you’re so determined to play this game, then so be it.’

Without saying anything further he released her face and turned and strode rapidly back across the room and out the door.

Hermione’s heart was pounding. Was she mental? The little voice in her brain was screaming at her, and she had to admit she was beginning to wonder herself. Why was she putting herself through this, especially when she already knew she couldn’t possibly have sex with any of the others Lucius was going to choose either?

Did she really want her humiliation to be so complete . . . and in front of someone else? It wouldn’t be just their little secret any longer. Once someone else knew, everyone would know. If only Lucius hadn’t given her that smug smile that would always make her rebel against him. She sighed loudly, her head in her hands as she despaired over what she had just done.

As she waited for Lucius to return Hermione rapidly began to run through the men at the party in her mind one more time. The problem was, thinking about them didn’t make them or Lucius in any way more desirable. She just wanted to sink to the floor in the corner of the room and curl up in a ball and sob. But whoever Lucius threw at her, she had to stay strong. He might strip her of her pride when they were alone in his bed, but here and now she would put on a brave face.

But then Lucius returned and Hermione’s world fell apart.

She realised that she had been expecting the squinty man to be Lucius’ competitor. She knew Lucius was aware that he was the one she’d had the strongest reaction to from the little time she had spent talking to him. Hermione had discovered he was a nasty little man with a filthy mind and a real fetish for doing strange things to feet, which had made her feel even queasier than at any other time that evening.

But it turned out that Lucius hadn’t gone for the obvious choice . . . or maybe he had. Because walking through the door next to the blond man she suddenly hated more than she had ever hated anyone in her life before was the werewolf, Fenrir Greyback.

Hermione felt her stomach clench, causing her to gasp for breath. Her eyes burned from the sting of tears and despair settled on her like a thick, heavy mantle. The werewolf was the perfect choice for Lucius’ opposition. After all, no one in their right mind would _ever_ consider choosing him; it was completely unthinkable, wrong in every possible way.

It was so wrong that she had never even thought about Greyback being a contender. He wasn’t even human, at least not fully. She bit her lip to stifle the wail of despair she so desperately wanted to let loose. After blinking a couple of times she took a deep breath and stared straight at the two men, who stopped almost within touching distance of her.

The werewolf grinned toothily and Hermione’s heart almost stopped beating. It was terrifying; she was more scared than she had ever been in her entire life. He sniffed her, loudly and clearly satisfyingly for him from the noise he made — a low grumbling sound that resembled the growl of an animal.

‘Ah, the girl,’ he said, his voice gravelly and deep. It almost sounded painful. ‘She smells delicious . . . and I’m sure will taste even better. Such soft, sweet skin . . . .’

He made to move closer to Hermione but Lucius stopped him with his hand.

‘No touching, remember,’ he said smoothly as he looked possessively at Hermione. ‘The girl is mine. You can look . . . and smell, but not touch.’

Lucius glanced at Hermione, his superiority over her blatant in all his mannerisms: from the way he stood to that horrid smug grin that Hermione had the urge to slap off his handsome face. Now that the initial shock of his choice had worn off she was furious with Lucius for what he was doing to her and that anger made her reckless.

‘I want to talk to Fenrir,’ she told him, her voice much stronger than she had expected. ‘Alone.’

Lucius’ smile faltered a little and his eyes narrowed but then he recovered. ‘Why do you want to—?’ He broke off when he saw the scowl on Hermione’s face at his question. He shrugged, then added, ‘Of course, anything you want, Hermione. I can afford to be generous at this point.’ He smiled again as if demonstrating his largesse.

He turned to the werewolf. ‘Hermione has requested to talk to you. I will be within wand range,’ he warned. ‘If you make _any_ attempt to touch her I will hex you. Do you understand?’

Fenrir looked at Lucius with dislike for a moment, then gave a single nod of his head. ‘She will not be touched,’ he growled, although he didn’t sound at all happy about it.

Lucius backed away until he was standing in the doorway. He pointed his wand at Fenrir.

‘I remember you, girly,’ the werewolf said once they were alone. ‘The seminar. Lucius took you away from me.’

Hermione nodded. ‘I remember, and I also remember what you said you were going to do to me.’ Fenrir grinned even more widely, but before he could respond she asked, ‘Do you know why you’re here now?’

The werewolf laughed. ‘Malfoy wanted me to scare you a little bit.’

Hermione sighed loudly. ‘He’s using you to force me into having sex with him.’ She looked appraisingly at the werewolf. ‘And I don’t want to.’

‘And how’s he doing that, then?’ Fenrir asked sceptically.

Hermione began to gnaw nervously on her bottom lip, not quite believing what she was about to do. She really was completely mental. ‘I have to make a choice between you and him,’ she told him honestly.

Fenrir roared with laughter at this and looked impressed as he said, ‘Malfoy is a clever bastard. I’ll give him that.’

Hermione looked over the werewolf’s shoulder at the tall blond man leaning nonchalantly against the doorframe. He still looked smug.

‘I don’t want to die and I don’t want to become a werewolf,’ she told Fenrir bluntly. ‘If you can promise me that neither of those things will happen, I will choose you over him.’

Fenrir looked at her in astonishment then, before her eyes, he seemed to grow and become more wolfish, his voice becoming even deeper, more of a growl. ‘You’re going to pick me over pretty boy? What’s the catch?’

‘There isn’t one,’ Hermione assured him, her heart pounding fit to burst. She still couldn’t believe what she was doing but it was too late to back out now. ‘I just don’t want to give myself to Mr Malfoy . . . not under any circumstances and certainly not because of blackmail like this.’ She saw Fenrir’s eyes light up as understanding overtook him. ‘Look, if you promise not to bite or kill me, I’ll do anything you want . . . anything. But I need your agreement that I will still be me at the end of it, that I will still be human not a werewolf . . . and not dead or injured.’

She could see Fenrir thinking, clearly weighing up the options and wondered whether it really was a serious consideration for him. Could he honestly subjugate his entire nature for her and leave her alive and human? She realised she wasn’t even sure it was possible.

For a moment Hermione began to panic about what she had just offered the werewolf, knowing she had been extremely stupid, especially in agreeing to do anything he wanted. The little voice in her mind was completely in shock at what she had done. But she hadn’t been able to help herself. Lucius and his stupid smug grin had forced her into it just to spite him, and now she had no choice but to do whatever the hulking beast in front of her decided.

Perhaps he would say no, and maybe that would be the best option. At least if that happened she would know she had given it her best shot to escape Lucius and her fate really was tied to the blond Death Eater.

Fenrir grinned at her again. He was looking far more human now. ‘All right then,’ he said, nodding as he spoke. ‘I’ll agree. I wouldn’t normally even consider it, but with such a sweet prize on offer . . . .’ He gave a rumbling growl that sent shivers up Hermione’s spine and reached out a hand to stroke her face.

‘I warned you, no touching,’ Lucius sent sharply from across the room.

Fenrir growled again angrily but moved his hand away.

‘Then will you make an Unbreakable Vow on this?’ Hermione asked hurriedly, aware that she didn’t have much more time. Lucius was getting antsy and surely wouldn’t leave them alone for too much longer. Fenrir growled for the third time. He obviously didn’t like that idea. ‘How can I know you’ll keep your promise otherwise?’ she added fairly.

‘You’ll do _anything_ I want?’ Fenrir clarified.

Hermione nodded. ‘Yes, I promise. But you have to make an Unbreakable Vow.’ She looked pale and scared.

‘It’s a deal,’ he agreed. ‘But how are you going to manage it with pretty boy ready to hex my balls off if I so much as touch you?’

‘I’ll manage it,’ Hermione assured him, scared but determined now.

Her heart was clattering as she realised what she had just voluntarily submitted herself to. She _was_ completely mad.

‘Do you have a wand?’ Fenrir gave another single nod and his hand reached towards the pocket of his robe. ‘Give it to me,’ she said quietly, waiting with bated breath as once again the werewolf considered her words.

‘Why should I give it to you?’ he asked, sounding belligerent.

‘Because Malfoy will never let _you_ use it. He’ll hex you before that happens and that won’t get either of us what we want. Give me your wand and I’ll perform the spell. He won’t be able to see because you’re blocking his view. By the time he realises what we’ve done it will be too late for him to do anything to stop it.’

‘And what’s to stop _you_ from hexing me once I give you my wand?’ Fenrir asked. ‘Why should I trust you?’

‘Because I promise not to use it against you,’ Hermione replied. She stared into Fenrir’s eyes to show him she was being sincere. ‘I meant what I said. I don’t want to be with him and I’m willing to do whatever needs to be done to achieve that. So, please . . . we don’t have much more time. He’ll join us again soon.’

The werewolf looked distrustfully at Hermione but he slid his hand into his robe and pulled out his wand. He slipped it into her hand, making his bulk as large as possible to hide what they were doing from Lucius. Hermione gripped his arm and quietly began to chant the words of the spell, concentrating hard as she knew how important it was that she got it completely right.

‘Haven’t you finished yet?’ Lucius asked, his voice sounding bored now. He was twirling his wand in his hand as he watched the couple, his foot tapping against the door.

Hermione shook her head over Fenrir’s shoulder but she didn’t stop chanting. She was so close and she couldn’t let Lucius stop or distract her. The spell had to be in place by the time he came over to ensure her safety once she made her choice.

‘What _are_ you doing over there?’ he continued waspishly. ‘What on earth can you be talking about so intently?’

Fenrir turned his head and grinned. ‘We’re discussing the weather.’

Lucius, now suspecting he was being made a fool of, started to move towards them. Hermione spoke as rapidly as she could, needing to get the spell completed before he took the final few steps.

‘Say you agree,’ she hissed to Fenrir.

‘I agree,’ he replied with a growl.

She waved the wand one final time and watched as the coloured strands that had been curling around their arms clamped tight around them like a cage of barbed wire, then seemed to disappear into their skin. Hermione breathed a sigh of relief and hurriedly passed the wand back to Fenrir as they released each other’s arms, his hand sliding the wand back into his robe just as Lucius reached them.

‘I’ve no idea what was so important for you to discuss with the werewolf but I think it’s time to stop now,’ Lucius said coldly.

It had become clear to him that the conversation was yet another stalling tactic by Hermione and he’d had enough. It was time for them to go to bed and for him to at last get the reward he had waited for so patiently.

‘You and I have things to do, Hermione, and I’m sure Greyback has better things he could be doing with his time, too.’    

‘Put your wand down, Mr Malfoy,’ Hermione said gently. Lucius looked at her in surprise for a moment but he didn’t lower his wand. ‘He’s not going to hurt me,’ she continued.

‘Do you know _nothing_ about werewolves?’ Lucius asked scornfully. ‘Greyback here wouldn’t hesitate to attack given the opportunity. I imagine the only thing stopping him is that he knows I wouldn’t think twice about killing him if he did.’

She looked at Fenrir, who moved back to give her a little room. ‘You should trust your friends more, Mr Malfoy otherwise, what’s the point in them being your friends?’

‘Greyback is more an acquaintance than a friend,’ Lucius admitted stiffly, ‘and I’m sure you’re aware that he stayed for a very particular reason.’ He stared pointedly at her. ‘But the night is drawing on and I’m sure we’re all eager to get to bed, so let’s not detain him any longer, Hermione.’

‘But I was quite enjoying Fenrir’s company,’ Hermione insisted. ‘He’s actually quite interesting when you get past the savage beast bit. Perhaps we should have another drink. And I really think you should stop waving your wand around.’

‘We don’t want another drink,’ Lucius said sharply. ‘Stop stalling. You know you’re delaying the inevitable and it can’t go on.’

Hermione shrugged. ‘As far as I can see things haven’t changed since we spoke earlier, Mr Malfoy. My decision is still the same.’

Lucius’ eyes narrowed angrily. ‘Are you sure you know what you’re saying?’ He studied her for a moment then added quietly through gritted teeth, ‘Do you _really_ want to play this game, Mudblood?’

‘I don’t want to do anything, as I keep telling you,’ Hermione retorted. ‘But you won’t listen to me, so you give me no choice but to keep saying it.’

‘I’m sure you’ve realised why Greyback is here,’ Lucius said. Hermione just stared at him. ‘Are you really so stubborn that you’re going to make me do this? I honestly don’t understand why you’re being so precious about it.’

Hermione sighed loudly. ‘I’ve told you time and again that I’m not interested in a relationship with you. Whatever you say or do doesn’t change that fact.’

Fenrir was watching the couple with amusement. ‘She’s not interested in you, Malfoy,’ he pointed out helpfully, a massive grin on his face.

Lucius glared at him. ‘Maybe not, but I think she’ll change her mind in a minute.’

‘Please don’t do this, Mr Malfoy,’ Hermione pleaded. She looked at him unhappily.

‘You should call me Lucius, I’ve told you that before.’ His voice was sharp now. ‘You knew this was coming, Mudblood, and you can’t say I haven’t given you every opportunity to make the decision before being forced into it.’

Hermione’s head dropped and she looked at her feet.

Lucius put his hand on her shoulder and patted it soothingly. ‘We both know you’ve lost, Hermione. Give in gracefully.’ His voice was soothing, too.

Hermione shrugged his hand off and raised her head. ‘I told you I’m not interested.’

Lucius sighed. ‘Fine. As you’re so determined to make me do this I will. You say you don’t want to get intimate with me but are you really so sure when the choice is between me and the werewolf? It’s time for you to make your final decision, Hermione.’

Hermione gazed at him evenly and somehow managing to keep her voice steady she answered, ‘I told you, nothing has changed. My choice is Fenrir, not you.’

Lucius was so shocked by her reply that the hand holding his wand dropped. ‘Greyback!’ he roared in disbelief. ‘You would honestly choose that . . . that . . . animal over me?’

‘She _really_ doesn’t want to fuck you, Malfoy,’ Fenrir said sounding smug.

Hermione stared at Lucius coldly. ‘I’ve told you time and again that I wasn’t interested, Mr Malfoy. And seeing you looking so smug because you thought you had me trapped and that I had no other choice but you was really what tipped the balance for me. There was no reason for me to be interested in you in the first place. You’re old enough to be my father and you have absolutely no respect for me. 

'Let’s face it, in all the years I’ve known you you’ve always been more than happy to call me a Mudblood and point out my so-called deficiencies as a witch. But now I’m old enough to have sex and suddenly everything’s changed and my blood status apparently no longer matters. Why on earth do you think I would want to give myself to someone like you? And why would you want me? It’s crazy and sick . . . just as your game of choices was sick.’

‘And yet, instead, you choose to give yourself to an animal — older than me, might I point out — who will do unspeakable things to you. Have you any idea what being a werewolf is like . . . assuming he doesn’t just decide to rip you apart when he’s finished with you, instead?’ Lucius said sourly.

‘I have no fear about my time with Fenrir,’ Hermione lied. In truth, she was absolutely terrified, especially as she had no idea what he would want from her, but there was no way she was letting either of them know that.

Lucius looked at her with loathing but didn’t say anything.

‘You went too far, Mr Malfoy,’ Hermione told him quietly, determined to get the blond man back for everything he had subjected her to over the weeks she had been his prisoner. She gave a small, bitter chuckle. ‘The funny thing is that if you hadn’t chosen to use Fenrir I _would_ have given in to you. You saw how disgusted I was by the men at your party earlier. If you had chosen the squinty man, or that creepy Rodolphus, or even one of those ancient guys I would have crumbled, because you were right — I would rather have you than them. But you decided to push it, to take it to the limit, and because of that I had no choice but to stand up to you and choose Fenrir.’

Lucius looked shocked at Hermione’s confession and silently cursed himself for trying to be too clever. He knew he should have gone for Dolohov as Hermione had quite clearly been repulsed by the man, but he had been convinced a werewolf would seal the deal, especially as the beast had terrorised her previously.

‘You may have made your choice but you’re still my prisoner and you live only because of my goodwill,’ he reminded her coldly. He raised his wand again, pointing it at Hermione’s heart.

‘I suggest you put your wand down, Malfoy,’ Fenrir growled. He was pointing his own wand at the blond man. ‘You wanted Hermione to choose, and she chose. You shouldn’t have played the game if you weren’t prepared to lose.’ Lucius glared at the werewolf, then back at Hermione. He didn’t lower his wand. ‘If you do anything to hurt her I will kill you,’ Fenrir promised grimly. ‘Now lower your wand.’

Knowing he had little choice, Lucius grudgingly did as he was asked and stepped back from Hermione, watching her carefully as he thought rapidly. He didn’t know what she had offered Greyback to get him to help her but he couldn’t help but suspect some trick was involved — a trick that would have the werewolf removing her from Malfoy Manor and back to freedom, no doubt. If that happened she would be out of his control and that couldn’t be allowed to happen.

But if Hermione really did intend to let the werewolf touch her she was unlikely to survive the encounter and certainly wouldn’t come out of it with her humanity intact. The kindest thing to do then would be to kill her, to put her out of the misery that would surely follow and to remove from the world the threat she would pose as a werewolf.

If Hermione was still at the Manor he would be able to achieve that, even if it meant a battle with Greyback to ensure it happened. He glanced at her once more. She had chosen the werewolf so she could have the werewolf. If she really had agreed to have sex he had no doubt Greyback would be more than ready to collect. 

‘Take her, then,’ Lucius retorted, the disgust evident in his voice. ‘But remember she is still a prisoner of the Dark Lord, and as such you will not remove her from the Manor. She is to stay within these four walls.’

Fenrir shrugged, his eyes glinting with amusement. ‘I can do it anywhere. All I need is the girl.’ He gave a small growl at Lucius’ look of annoyance and added, ‘You can watch if you want, Malfoy. You might not actually get to enjoy the lovely Hermione yourself but you can experience it through me.’ He made a biting motion with his teeth, then licked his lips as if with satisfaction.

‘It will be up to you to dispose of her body if you kill her otherwise, you need to return her to her room,’ Lucius stated coldly, completely ignoring Fenrir’s comment. Without another look at either of them, he turned and stalked out of the room.


	6. Chapter 6

Hermione looked at the werewolf. She was aware she was shaking but there was absolutely nothing she could do to stop it. She had made her choice and now she had to live with it, but that didn’t mean it was going to be easy to face.

‘I know I said I would do anything . . . .’ she began.

‘But now you want to renegotiate,’ Fenrir said bluntly. He stared at her intently for a moment, a look of amusement crossing his face. ‘Sorry, Hermione, but we made a deal. You made me make an Unbreakable Vow, remember?’

Hermione nodded. ‘I know that and I wasn’t trying to get out of what I’d agreed to. It’s just . . . .’ She broke off, seemingly unable to continue.

‘What? Tell me.’ The werewolf was interested in what she had to say. So far Hermione had been straight with him and he had no reason to suspect she wouldn’t continue to be; after all, the Unbreakable Vow worked both ways.

Hermione blushed. ‘It’s just that it’s my first time,’ she said quietly, sounding far more scared now. ‘I’ve never done . . . well, anything really . . . .’ She broke off again and took a deep breath, then said, ‘Please be gentle with me, Fenrir. I’m really nervous.’

The werewolf laughed raucously. ‘I don’t really do gentle, love. But don’t worry, you’re going to enjoy it. I can promise you that.’

Hermione didn’t believe him but there was nothing she could do. She was bound by the Unbreakable Vow just as much as Fenrir, no matter what he did or how much it hurt.

Fenrir, still watching her closely, grinned again. ‘You need to relax. It’ll go much better for you if you do.’

Hermione watched him for a moment. ‘Please don’t be smug about this,’ she pleaded. ‘Lucius Malfoy is always so smug and that’s what makes me hate him so much. I couldn’t bear it if you were as well.’

Fenrir gave another gruff laugh as he moved towards Hermione, wrapping his huge arms around her. ‘No smugness from me. I find that aspect of Malfoy’s personality at least as objectionable as you do,’ he promised. More gently he said, ‘You’re shaking.’

‘I’m sorry, I can’t help it. I told you I’m nervous.’

‘I’m not going to hurt, injure or kill you so what have you got to be nervous about?’ Fenrir asked.

Hermione stared at him archly. ‘What do you think? I’m nervous about having sex.’

The werewolf looked surprised. ‘But that’s nothing to worry about. It’s wonderful . . . it’s going to be wonderful.’ Then, when Hermione still didn’t look convinced he continued, ‘I suppose we should take you back to your room as you’re still a prisoner. I assume it has a bed?’

Hermione nodded. ‘I don’t really want to go back in there, though.’

‘I’ll never get you out of here. Malfoy would kill us before he allowed that to happen,’ Fenrir told her honestly as he released her, ‘and at least the bed will be more comfortable.’

With resignation, Hermione took Fenrir’s hand and led him out of the room towards the stairs. She was still nervous but the sheer terror had gone. Now she had resigned herself to what was about to happen she was feeling calmer although, she had to admit, a little disappointed.

Lucius’ disgust at her choice she had expected, but she had hoped it would lead either to her expulsion from the Manor or to Fenrir insisting that he take her elsewhere to complete their union. She realised she should have made it a condition of their agreement, but she hadn’t thought of it until it was too late; she had only just managed to get the vow completed in time as it was.

Of course, Lucius didn’t know about the vow and was expecting the werewolf to kill or transform her, but that wasn’t going to happen — and she didn’t think the stunt she had just pulled would make Lucius any more inclined to release her once Fenrir had finished with her. The only way she was getting away from Malfoy Manor was if she escaped. Perhaps if she could please Fenrir enough she would be able to convince him to help her.

She opened the door of the hated room that she had called home for the last few weeks. She honestly detested being in here, and adding a large werewolf to the small room didn’t make it any more appealing.

‘Not exactly salubrious, is it?’ Fenrir noted drily as he looked around the sparse room. ‘I never realised Malfoy Manor contained any rooms this bare, apart from the cellar. Every room I’ve ever seen has been ostentatiously over-decorated.’

‘I don’t suppose Lucius wanted to waste a decent room on me,’ Hermione said with a shrug.

‘Yet he still wanted to fuck you. He’s a massive hypocrite, Lucius Malfoy, although I expect his wife doesn’t come to this part of the house much, which would be why you’re housed here. I wonder if he would have moved you somewhere nicer if you’d agreed to his request?’ Fenrir sounded amused. ‘Mind you, I can’t really blame him for wanting to fuck you, Hermione. After all, you are delicious. He must be so angry with you right now.’

‘I don’t care. I’ve never liked him and I’m _not_ a hypocrite, so I wasn’t going to give in to his blackmail. I am probably completely mental, though.’

‘Why, because you chose me? You know you’re perfectly safe because of the vow. I think you’re extremely clever, Hermione, and Malfoy seriously underestimated you because he didn’t think you could possibly be as clever as he thinks himself to be. His ego has always been his Achilles heel and this time was no different.

‘He is, however, extremely dangerous and vindictive. Once he realises just how much you managed to get one over on him he’ll be on the warpath. At the moment he’s expecting me to kill you . . . or turn you, and I’m betting he had no intention of letting you leave the Manor alive if that happened. Once he realises you’re still you, he’s going to want you even more, just to prove a point, and that’s when you’re going to need to be really clever.’

Hermione looked worried at Fenrir’s words, knowing he was right. She hadn’t considered what was going to happen afterwards.

‘Don’t worry, you’re mine now,’ Fenrir said in a voice so deep she could feel it in her bones. ‘I won’t let him touch you. But remember, Hermione, you agreed to this so you’d better be prepared to live with the consequences.’

‘What consequences?’ Hermione asked, frowning.

Fenrir smiled. ‘Do you think becoming my mate is going to be easy?’

‘Your mate?’ Hermione looked at him in shock.

‘Of course. Your insistence that you remain the same changed the whole nature of our agreement. For werewolves, sex is usually just sex, without any ties or favour, and I’m sure you can imagine how it ends with humans — obviously you can, judging by the vow you insisted on. But when we choose to take a mate . . . something that only happens once in our lives, it’s a permanent attachment.

‘By asking me to subjugate my natural behaviour you initiated that process. The only way for me to be with you in the way you want is for me to make you my mate. Fortunately, the idea of spending the rest of my life with you is acceptable; after all, you are a beautiful young thing, which is why I agreed to your request.’

Hermione was shaken to the core by Fenrir’s words. Stupidly, because she had not had a chance to consider it properly she had assumed that once the werewolf had finished with her he would release her and if she managed to get him to help her escape she would be free to return to Hogwarts and live her life once more, no different from the way she had always been. But now he was telling her she would be saddled with him forever — and Merlin only knew what being his mate would entail in the long run. Perhaps Lucius would have been the better choice after all. However, it was too late now. She had made the vow, and if she didn’t stick to it she would die. And that had been the whole point of the vow: Hermione didn’t want to die.

‘How’s that going to work?’ she asked quietly.

‘Hard to tell. Mating between humans and werewolves doesn’t happen often,’ Fenrir said with a shrug. ‘But I wouldn’t worry about it now. First, you need to give me your beautiful body. That’s all that I’m interested in at the moment — and that quite often does happen between werewolves and humans.’ He moved closer and took her in his arms once more. ‘Time to give me your precious virginity, Hermione.’

Hermione closed her eyes as Fenrir’s face came towards hers, his mouth opening. Those long, fanged teeth made her afraid even though she knew he wouldn’t hurt her. But the kiss, when it came, was no less normal than kissing Ron, although she knew the arms holding her could squeeze the life out of her without even trying.

Fenrir picked her up as he kissed her and carried her to the bed, and although she was still shaking and her heart was pounding fit to burst, Hermione knew she had to make herself enjoy this. She had to forget that Fenrir was an animal. He was her lover now and she had to accept that.

Fortunately, the kisses, sweeter and more passionate than she had expected, helped, as did keeping her eyes tightly shut, and as she lay on the bed beneath him she tried to relax.

‘I know you’re not gentle, but please don’t take it too quickly,’ she whispered. ‘I know you’re not going to hurt me, but . . . .’

Fenrir gave an amused rumble of a laugh. ‘I would think you would want this over as quickly as possible, Hermione, especially the way you’re acting.’

Hermione opened her eyes and looked at him. ‘What do you mean, the way I’m acting?’

‘You don’t want to look at me,’ Fenrir pointed out. ‘You’re scared and shaking and I disgust you.’

‘No. Lucius Malfoy disgusts me, you don’t. I told you, I’m nervous because I’ve never done anything like this before. I would be the same with anyone,’ Hermione insisted. She reached up a hand to stroke the werewolf’s face. ‘I’ll admit you being a werewolf does give it an added frisson that wouldn’t normally be there, but I still don’t want you just ploughing into me. Slower is gentler, even if it is still rougher than with a normal man. I want to enjoy this with you, Fenrir, so please, take it slowly.’

Fenrir chuckled deeply. ‘You’ve already got me wrapped around your little finger, Hermione. Mani only knows what the future holds. Slow it is, then.’ He leant to kiss her again. ‘To start with, anyway,’ he added once the kiss had finished.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Hermione lay with her head on Fenrir’s chest, listening to his steady breathing, his arm wrapped loosely around her. She knew she was grinning, ecstatic from the huge rush of endorphins that had flooded her body, but she didn’t care. She felt amazing and it was all due to her wonderful lover. For a moment she wondered whether she would have felt this good with Lucius, but she was fairly certain she wouldn’t have done. Fenrir was her mate and they were obviously destined to be together.

She shuffled up the bed a little so her face was at the same level as his and bent to kiss him, a tender peck on the lips at first, which turned into something deeper as Fenrir kissed her back.

He was awake!

Hermione’s blood raced at the knowledge, and even though her body seriously ached from their previous encounters she could feel the dull pain of desire already building up inside her. Sex with the werewolf was everything he had promised and more, and even knowing the way things were going to go between them once they started again did nothing to dull her ardour. 

Despite his insistence to the contrary, Fenrir had actually been quite gentle with her, at least for her first time, and she had discovered that he was an exceptional lover, going out of his way to ensure she was happy with what they were doing . . . and she had been extremely happy. 

Hermione had a suspicion that things wouldn’t have been quite so enjoyable if the vow hadn’t been in force — as Fenrir said, mating made everything different — but now she had no qualms about being the werewolf’s mate. She still had no desire to be a werewolf herself but she was happy to be his lover, and the more time they spent in each other’s arms the stronger the feeling grew, although she was aware there were some parts of the relationship that were going to take some getting used to.

She had been a little shocked at how rapidly Fenrir recovered after they made love the first time. Although Hermione's knowledge of sex was somewhat vague she was under the impression that men took a little while to recover after ejaculation. But he was ready to go again within minutes even though she felt nowhere near ready to continue. 

It was at that point she had discovered the first difference between humans and werewolves and the downside to being Fenrir’s mate. He explained that in order to be completely sated, both sides of his nature had to be fed. He had taken her as a human but the wolfish side still required attention, and urgently. Hermione was not best pleased to discover this previously unmentioned side effect of werewolf sex and was even less so when he added that they would have to do it again almost immediately, followed by a reminder that she was bound by the vow.

The second time was far scarier than the first. Hermione had become used to Fenrir in his most human form, but in his more wolfish aspect, he was terrifying. For a moment she feared the vow would mean nothing to him any longer. But although he was noisy and his fangs were bared several times he hadn’t bitten her, and she came through it with nothing more than some discomfort — the werewolf was definitely not gentle.

Afterwards, he tried to explain, although this area was somewhat new for him, too. Normally during sex, he had no need to worry about his form and so quite often he would change mid-coitus, both sides of his being satiated in one glorious tryst. That was too dangerous with Hermione, as in his heightened state of arousal it would be too easy for him to lose control, but there was no other way of dealing with the need that filled his entire being once sexual contact was initiated.

It was also becoming increasingly obvious that now they were mated their desire for each other was almost insatiable.

After another couple of bouts with the werewolf, Hermione badly needed to rest and Fenrir told her to sleep. But although she dozed, and despite her discomfort, the close proximity of her lover soon aroused her once more and before long she was raring to go again.

To his credit, Fenrir tried to delay her using hunger as an excuse to take him away from the bed in order to give her a chance to recover, but she soon found that separation made the dull ache inside her core worsen and so she followed him, eventually tracking him down to the kitchen with the help of a house-elf. They didn’t make it back to her room before their next coupling, and by the time they finished Fenrir had to carry Hermione as she was unable to walk.

‘I’m glad you’re awake,’ Hermione said. ‘I need you.’ Her hand moved, finding, as expected, Fenrir’s erection and she squeezed.

Fenrir gave a small growl. He was as ready to make love as Hermione was but was worried by the incessant arousal between them. At this rate, it wouldn’t be long before he seriously hurt her, even though he didn’t intend to.

As ridiculous as it seemed, something that he had always imagined being only an old wolves’ tale appeared to be coming true, and he had no idea how to stop it. The worst bit was that in his rush to make a decision, forced on them both by Lucius Malfoy, he hadn’t even considered the possibility the story could be true; in truth hadn’t even thought about the story in the first place, and now he realised he had been rash.

Now they were mated, his and Hermione’s arousal would be increased whenever they were together, the desire to rut pretty much overwhelming all other needs. He had been aware this would happen before he agreed to the Unbreakable Vow, but he hadn’t properly considered what effect Hermione’s remaining human would have on the coupling.

It was already clear from the few times they had made love so far that her body wasn’t going to be strong enough to withstand repeated assaults on it, especially when the wolf was in ascendance, but the longer they were together the more intense their arousal would become; Hermione’s weakness would do nothing to dampen it. Fenrir growled again as Hermione’s tongue caused the most unusual sensations to run through him.

Werewolves usually didn’t bother with foreplay. Once they were aroused they were hard and ready to rut, and whilst they didn’t always fuck their own kind they always followed the same rules. But Hermione, as his mate, seemed to need more. Although her body desired his, Fenrir had quickly realised that it wouldn’t necessarily be ready to accept him in the way he wanted.

He had discovered that he rather enjoyed using his tongue to prepare her, the taste of her body driving his arousal to even greater heights as did the cries of pleasure she emitted as she became more liquid. But then Hermione insisted on pleasuring him with her beautiful mouth in return and he finally understood just how exquisite foreplay could be.

Fenrir concentrated for a moment, willing himself not to shift form as he had a tendency to do when he was in the throes of passion. A change, even now, could be fatal for Hermione and then, because of the vow, for him too.

It was hard not to just let himself go and enjoy what Hermione was offering, but his beautiful mate had no idea what she had got herself into when she agreed to the union and he hadn’t yet had a chance to explain it to her beyond the basics.

‘Stop, love,’ he growled softly, his hand stroking Hermione’s hair. 

Hermione raised her eyes to look at him but didn’t immediately stop what she was doing. He growled again. She was adorable and he needed to be inside her. His hand moved between her legs, gauging her readiness for him.

‘I need you,’ Hermione said again, smiling at him now that she had released him. She moved so she was lying on top of him.

‘I’m not sure you’re ready,’ Fenrir told her honestly.

‘’Of course, I am,’ she crooned, her voice soft and sensual. ‘I’m always ready for you, Fenrir.’

Fenrir sighed. ‘As much as I wish that were true, my love, we are both aware that desire does not make it so and I’m worried about how it’s affecting you.’

‘I’m fine,’ Hermione assured him, although in truth she wasn’t entirely certain she was fine. Her need for Fenrir seemed unnatural considering the short amount of time they had been together, but perhaps that was one of the side effects of their mating. It didn’t matter that she ached, she needed him to touch her . . . to love her, and she needed to pleasure him in return. She kissed him again. ‘How can I convince you?’ she asked.

Fenrir wrapped his arms around her before moving to roll them over so Hermione was now lying underneath him, then he gave a deep chuckle. ‘I’m sure you’ll be able to convince me shortly.’

He kissed her again, then slowly began to kiss his way down her body.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Hermione was waiting anxiously for the signal to move. She knew Fenrir was right and that she had to leave Malfoy Manor but she was already feeling jittery at being away from him. The idea of being stuck at Hogwarts, a place she knew he wasn’t welcome regardless of how safe it was for her, was making her fretful. She wasn’t entirely certain she could survive the separation.

Lucius had already attempted to have Fenrir removed once he realised that Hermione hadn’t been turned into a werewolf or killed, and locked away alone in her room once more, the dull ache of desire that seemed to have become a constant companion since she and Fenrir had mated grew until Hermione thought she was going to be unable to bear the pain of it without going mad.

It had got so bad that she had even found herself considering having sex with Lucius just to kill the incessant throb that she somehow knew only physical intimacy could soothe. But it seemed the blond Death Eater no longer had any interest in her sexually and he had been keeping a low profile. He no longer even brought her meals, instead delegating the task to a house-elf.

Hermione knew this sudden lack of interest stemmed from his having seen, whether by design or by accident she had no idea, her and Fenrir coupling during his wolfish incarnation when they had been outside the privacy of her room. It had, apparently, unsettled Lucius enough to dampen his desire for her for the time being, the werewolf told her with relish.

But she suspected that once Fenrir was ousted and an appropriate amount of time had lapsed, Lucius would return with his requests for intimacy. If she didn’t manage to escape before that happened Hermione knew she wouldn’t be able to turn him down this time as the need inside her would have grown too strong for that.

It was galling to think that after everything she had been through she was still going to end up as Lucius’ lover. Hermione's only solace was that his need to keep away from her, for the time being, meant he didn’t realise how desperate her need for sex was without Fenrir to satiate her, otherwise her ruination would already have been complete.

Fenrir had managed to visit her a couple of times since her re-incarceration, scaring the Death Eater guards that appeared to have been permanently stationed outside her door with his most wolfish aspect. The men were, understandably, unwilling to go up against the werewolf.

The feeling inside her hadn’t yet completely overwhelmed her, but it was getting harder to control all the time. Fenrir told her she needed to go back to school. Firstly, so that Lucius would have no chance to get her back but also because Professor Snape was there and Fenrir was hopeful that if anyone could help with the terrible craving it would be the taciturn teacher who knew more about the Dark Arts than anyone else he knew.

Hermione wasn’t entirely sure what the Dark Arts had to do with the feeling inside her and was nervous that they were an answer to solving it, but she had no better solution so she agreed to track down Professor Snape as soon as she could get back to Hogwarts.

It had taken Fenrir a little time to find and smuggle some clothes in for her as Lucius had shown no sign of returning her old ones and Hermione wasn’t awfully keen on the idea of trying to escape wearing only a shirt, even if she was supposedly going straight back to Hogwarts. But now she was ready and waiting, knowing that when the signal came she would have only a tiny window of time in which to make good her escape. Despite the fact that she still knew very little about the layout of the house, Fenrir had talked her through her escape route several times and she was confident she could get out.

For the first time since she had become his lover, Hermione was glad that Fenrir was a werewolf, as he would thus still be able to protect himself against the Death Eaters if need be since he had once again entrusted her with his wand. All she had to do was get out into the garden and find the spot where he had hidden it, in the undergrowth close to the gate where she was going to exit the Manor. Once outside the grounds, she would be able to Apparate directly to Hogwarts. 

The wand wouldn’t work as well for her as her own would have done, but there was no way of retrieving that, even assuming Lucius hadn’t long ago destroyed it, so Fenrir’s would have to do. There was also an increased risk of her splinching herself with the unfamiliar wand but as long as she was careful she should be fine. Not that Hermione had any choice. It was the only way she was going to get to Hogwarts and at least they had the Hospital Wing if she did end up injuring herself.

Hermione had tried sitting quietly and waiting but the tension was beginning to get to her. Now she paced the room like a caged animal, trying to relieve both the stress and the pain of being separated from Fenrir for so long. She rubbed at her forehead as if trying to shift a headache. This desire she was feeling, the ache deep inside her core, was an addiction like a drug that was beginning to overwhelm her. She shivered and wrapped her arms around herself. She had to concentrate. Any minute now the door would open and she had to be ready to act.

She heard a noise outside the door — Fenrir drawing away her guards, Hermione assumed — and for a moment the need to see him almost made her call out to him. But somehow she managed to stop herself knowing that this would ruin all their carefully laid plans.

Hermione turned to face the door and watched intently, desperately trying to ignore the shaking and the ever-growing ache inside of her.

With a gentle snick, the door opened just a crack.    


	7. Chapter 7

Severus Snape looked at the werewolf in confusion.

‘This was my fault, Severus, because I didn’t heed the old stories. But then, to be fair, it was just an old wolf mother’s tale and I never believed it could be true . . . and what Hermione was offering was so tempting that I didn’t even really stop to consider it,’ Fenrir admitted.

‘You mentioned this tale before,’ Snape replied, frowning. ‘What makes you so convinced it has anything to do with what you and Hermione are going through?’

‘Because the story _is_ Hermione and me.’ Fenrir sighed loudly, took a sip of his drink then continued, ‘There are two different types of werewolves. Most are humans who have been turned, but a few, a decreasing number of us these days, are born that way.’

Snape looked at him in surprise.

‘I know it’s believed that the true lycanthropes died out centuries ago and that all werewolves today are of human origin, but it’s not true. Some of us still exist, although we keep our heritage secret for obvious reasons. Like all races we have our old stories learnt at the knees of the wolf mothers, stories of wonder and horror, all designed to teach us and help us grow. But like the fairy tales of the humans, our stories are just that — nothing but stories.’

‘But a lot of Muggle fairy tales are based in fact, they just don’t realise it,’ Snape pointed out. ‘And plenty of wizards are convinced that the _Tale of the Three Brothers_ from _Beedle the Bard_ is true.’

Fenrir raised his eyebrows. ‘Are you?’

Snape shrugged. ‘I keep an open mind. Albus Dumbledore certainly believed it was true. He spent years researching the tale.’

‘And found nothing,’ Fenrir interjected gruffly. ‘That’s the point: they’re just stories and no one takes them seriously.’

‘So tell me about your story,’ Snape said.

He held out the bottle of Firewhisky he had just picked up. Fenrir leant forward, holding out his glass.

‘Lycanthropes share a human heritage,’ he began once he had sat back in his seat. ‘Although we’re Shapeshifters, the ancestors realised that we couldn’t survive without some human blood in us, so occasionally we mated with humans to keep the line strong.

‘Mating is a serious business for us, Severus. When we do finally choose to take a mate we do so for life, so the decision of whether to mate with a human rather than one of our own kind certainly isn’t taken lightly. Throughout history, the humans we mated with were turned by the mating. They became werewolves themselves, able to withstand the force our lovemaking inflicts. You see, once a couple has mated their attraction for each other grows until nothing but their mate has any place in their life. Arousal is strong and sexual intimacy happens often. It is an intensely and incessantly physical relationship. 

‘Most of our stories revolve around the virtue of keeping our true natures hidden, but there is one tale, the story of _The Moon Princess and the Wolf_ in which our hero, a handsome young lycanthrope, falls in love with a beautiful human princess he meets during a full moon. He is desperate to make love to her, to mate with her rather than just rut, so he woos her and eventually she falls in love with him, too.

‘But their love is doomed. The princess is unable to give up her humanity; and the lycanthrope, as deep in love with her as he is, makes love to her without turning her into a werewolf. This decision seals their fate and they become enchanted although unfortunately, the story was never explicit about the result of this enchantment or at least the wolf mother’s never told us much about it.

‘What is told is that their passion is strong and bright and eventually it tears them both apart. The desire shared by mated couples is exponentially intensified in these two such different races and their natural desire becomes a terrible thing. When together, their arousal spirals out of control and the couple are unable to keep their hands off each other, but the force of their mating has a terrible effect on the frail human body of the princess.

‘In an attempt to save his lover’s life the lycanthrope forces a separation between them, but this just makes things even worse. Unable to satiate their desire with each other their cravings grow until the pain is unbearable, a sickness that rapidly infects their entire bodies and souls. Trying to stem the agony, the lovers seduce anyone who comes into their path but the pain of desire never fades. However many people they seduce, however many times they climax, they can only find true happiness in each other’s arms and madness begins to take hold. Realising this to be true, the couple are reunited, but their passion overwhelms them.’

Fenrir stopped and took a large mouthful of his Firewhisky. Snape noticed the hand holding his glass was shaking.

‘What happened to the couple?’ Snape asked quietly.

Fenrir looked desolate, his voice cracking as he said, ‘The princess dies, her body unable to cope with the incessant demands on it from a vigorous lycanthrope lover. The lycanthrope, unable to function properly without his mate goes mad with grief and infects a whole town before locking himself away. He dies of a broken heart.’

Snape didn’t say anything for several minutes, just swirled his drink around his glass as he thought about Hermione’s strange behaviour and how it mirrored the story Greyback had just told him. He couldn’t help but wonder whether this was just some trick of the werewolf’s, but if that was the case, then he had no idea of its purpose.

He could think of nothing that could be gained by Greyback seemingly having Hermione in thrall to him, and from the way he had seen the werewolf act towards her, it was clear that he was worried about her, which pointed to deeper feelings between them. 

‘So this thing that’s happening to Hermione—?’

‘Has been exacerbated by her remaining human. The massive increase in arousal and the need for us to mate twice each time will eventually kill her. Her body is not physically strong enough to withstand it, yet without help, we cannot stop.

‘You experienced first-hand what she was like, and we had only been apart for a few hours. Imagine what an extended separation would do to her . . . and me, too. You also saw what happens when we’re together. Neither option is workable which is why she has to be sedated. It doesn’t affect her when she’s asleep.’ Fenrir took another mouthful of his drink, emptying the glass. ‘Although I’m aware that’s obviously not a permanent solution to the problem, especially as it’s done nothing to stop my desire for her.’

‘One could say that it served _you_ right,’ Snape retorted angrily. ‘You instigated this knowing full well what was likely to happen. It defies belief that you could be so selfish, Fenrir, but unfortunately, you do have precedent. When have you ever thought about anything other than your own craven desires, regardless of how they affect other people?’

Fenrir shook his head miserably. ‘That’s just the point, Severus, I didn’t know what was going to happen. I told you, I thought it was just a story, and everyone knows that stories aren’t true. To be honest, it was a spur of the moment decision made after only a few minutes of conversation with Hermione. I didn’t even have time to think about the story. It never even crossed my mind.

‘Malfoy was about to force Hermione into something she really didn’t want to do and I could help her out. I will admit I was selfish for desiring to make love to her but she was adamant that she had to remain human and the only way I could do that was to make her my mate. Anyway, you’ve seen what it’s done to me, too. Do you honestly think I would willingly have done that to myself had I known what was going to happen?’

He gave a small wolfish growl as he looked at his empty glass, then looked again at Snape. With a sigh the Potions Master reached down for the bottle beside him, unscrewing the cap and holding it out to pour some more of the liquid into Fenrir’s glass. After a moment’s hesitation, he added another measure to his own glass before recapping the bottle.

‘Unless you can find a way to help us, this is going to kill us both, Severus. I know you wouldn’t be unhappy to see the end of me but it’s not fair on Hermione, especially when she was just trying to get away from that hypocritical bastard, Malfoy. Look, I know I’m really putting you on the spot here, but is there anything you can do to help us?’      

‘I’m not really sure what you expect me to do,’ Snape admitted.

Fenrir sighed. ‘I was hoping you might know of a potion or spell that could stop the terrible craving Hermione is feeling. If she at least can be cured of this, that would be something. You know the Dark Arts, Severus. There must be something that can help her.’

Snape shook his head as he said, ‘I agree that something will need to be done as we can’t keep Hermione sedated forever and the alternative is unthinkable. However, I can think of nothing off the top of my head although I suppose I have a few books I could consult . . . and I could mention it to Albus, see if he has any suggestions.’

Fenrir frowned. ‘Dumbledore? But I thought you killed him?’

‘I did,’ Snape said, his voice dark and giving away no emotion. ‘But as the new Headmaster of Hogwarts, I get to talk to all my predecessors including, on occasion, Albus Dumbledore.’ Scowling, he added, ‘He’s not usually of much help, but his great age and wisdom might be of use in this instance. He may have come across such a pairing in the past.’

‘You might be right,’ Fenrir conceded. ‘He was the only one the Dark Lord ever feared, so he must hold much arcane knowledge.’

‘And what about you?’ Snape asked seriously. ‘How are you going to manage this?’

Fenrir gave a wolfish grin. ‘I’ll survive. If you can cure Hermione then hopefully it’ll cure me too. Until then I can seek out . . . other entertainment.’ Seeing Snape begin to bristle he raised his hands in supplication. ‘I know you want me away from Hogwarts, Severus, and I will go shortly. I promise not to prey on any of your students . . . although I can’t promise the same for Hermione if you don’t keep her sedated.’

Snape took a long drink of his Firewhisky, then said, ‘It was fortunate that I was in my old study when Hermione arrived. Usually, I spend my evenings in the Headmaster’s office these days but the Dark Lord had requested a potion that I needed to complete. I dread to think what would have happened if she had come across poor old Horace Slughorn instead.’

He couldn’t help the wry smile that crossed his face at the thought of Hermione as she had been earlier, with the blustering and not very worldly-wise teacher.

Fenrir gave a deep chuckle. ‘I think she might have given him a heart attack.’

‘Hermione was on her way out of the classroom when I stopped her just before you turned up,’ Snape said. ‘She didn’t take me turning her down very well as she was adamant that sex was the only cure. I had visions of her running into a group of Slytherins like Draco Malfoy and his friends and was dreading their reaction, especially with her being naked and so volatile.’

‘That would have been an education for them,’ Fenrir replied sounding amused. ‘Although it’s lucky that didn’t happen otherwise Lucius would have been even more upset with me than he is already.’

Snape looked at him enquiringly.

‘If any of them had touched her I’d have killed them. As I told you earlier, I wouldn’t have been able to help myself; she’s my mate,’ Fenrir explained honestly.

Snape drained the last of his drink, then stood up. ‘I should go and talk to Albus. You need to leave the castle, Fenrir. I’ll contact you if I find anything.’ He looked towards the bed where Hermione was still sleeping peacefully. ‘I’ll leave Hermione sedated for the time being. I think it’s safer for everyone that way.’

Fenrir stood too and moved forward to clasp Snape’s hand tightly in his own much larger paws. ‘Thank you, Severus,’ he said gruffly.

Snape’s voice was grim as he told the werewolf, ‘Don’t thank me yet. I might not be able to find anything.’

 

 

* * *

 

 

Headmaster Severus Snape sat at his desk with his eyes closed, his hands clasped in front of him. To the casual observer, he looked as if he was asleep, but the portraits watching him from around the office knew that their latest addition was actually deep in contemplation. Almost completely still, the only thing that gave away Snape’s state was his thumbs, rolling over each other, moving of their own accord — ten seconds one way then ten seconds the other.

The portrait of Albus Dumbledore watched him worriedly as Severus debated. The situation with Hermione and the werewolf was an unexpected development that had seriously hampered Albus’ plans, although in truth they had already been shot to pieces when Lucius Malfoy abducted Hermione.

Albus had been relying on the intelligent young woman to aid Harry in his quest for Voldemort’s remaining Horcruxes as she was sensible enough to keep her impetuous friends under control and focussed in the right direction and to lead them into discovering that the Deathly Hallows were real, but Lucius’ actions had ruined that.

Instead, Harry had set off on his quest accompanied only by Ronald Weasley, who, although steadfast and faithful, was easily agitated and was all about the quick result. Without Hermione to draw Ron back, Albus had been worried that Harry’s quest would fail once the two young men argued and separated to go their own ways.

Fortunately, a stroke of luck had enabled Severus to get them to the same place at the same time and an attempt to recover the Sword of Gryffindor, essential for the destruction of the other Horcruxes, saw them helping each other once more and the friendship was restored. It was going as well as could be hoped under the circumstances but Albus still couldn’t help but wish that Hermione was involved.

How Severus was going to solve Hermione’s problem was a mystery, even to him. He had already known of the lycanthrope’s tale Severus relayed to him, as he had been an avid collector of stories from all races when he was alive and had always been touched by the tragic love story. But even in his long years, he had never come across a lycanthrope/human pairing before, nor had he ever read anything else on the subject, so he was at a complete loss as to what to suggest.

Snape had scoured both his own Dark Arts books and those owned by previous Headmasters but had not come across anything useful and he was certain time was running out. So far he had continued to keep Hermione sedated, but it had been almost a week now and he was worried about the effect that keeping her drugged would have. He had no idea what damage the potions he was keeping her dosed with would have in the long term and he couldn’t continue to keep her in that state, without any food and water, or she would soon perish.

Additionally, he had heard some unsettling reports about Greyback’s behaviour, which seemed to be deteriorating at an alarming rate with his enforced separation from Hermione. The werewolf had always been happy to infect and kill but it appeared his appetite had become almost unquenchable as his rage grew the longer he kept away from his mate.

The problem was that Snape had no idea what to do to salvage the situation. It appeared there were no potions or spells that could help to break the enchantment Hermione and Greyback had unwittingly put themselves under, and none of the previous Headmasters had anything useful to contribute.

It seemed the only option, although it went against everything Hermione had wanted, was for Greyback to turn her into a werewolf too. It wasn’t the ideal solution by any stretch of the imagination and could potentially cause far more problems in the long-term, but the fact was that Hermione couldn’t remain human and survive her relationship with Greyback — so there really was no other choice.

Snape sighed as he remembered the sounds he had heard the couple making in his classroom that had turned his stomach and filled him with dread. Surely becoming a werewolf would be better than having to suffer that every time, especially when her death would be certain to occur eventually . . . wouldn’t it?

He just hoped that Hermione would agree.

It was patently unfair that she had been forced into this situation but having made the decision she now had no choice but to be pragmatic about it, although Merlin only knew what she would be like after the transformation. Would she still be the intelligent, engaged young woman she had always been, or would her animalistic side and her desire for her mate overwhelm and subsume that side of her?        

Albus’ plans regarding the Potter boy were on the verge of coming to fruition, which would shortly mean the long-awaited confrontation with Voldemort. Snape was aware of the important part Hermione had to play in keeping her friends focussed on what needed to be done and wondered gloomily whether she would be capable of doing that as a werewolf, or whether her friends would even accept her in that state.

His thoughts turned to Remus Lupin. Things hadn’t been easy for him as a werewolf but he had managed well enough and was a friend to Potter and many others. There was no reason Hermione couldn’t do the same and once turned she might even be able to temper the behaviour of her mate.

For a second he wondered where Greyback’s allegiance now lay. The werewolf had always been a supporter of the Dark Lord because the wizard had been happy to allow him free rein to do as he wished but how would he feel now when his mate was on the opposing side? Could Fenrir be convinced to come over to their side?

Snape debated his position and whether he dared risk exposing himself to find out, then decided he didn’t. He couldn’t risk everything he and Albus had worked so hard to achieve only to throw it all away at the last moment because of a stupid glitch. If Hermione managed to retain her human traits she could tackle that mountain. He had to focus his mind on helping Potter . . . and explaining to Hermione why she had to become a werewolf.    

 

 

* * *

 

 

Severus Snape had been reluctant to recall Greyback to the school, not sure how the werewolf would react once he was with Hermione again or whether he would go on a mad rampage amongst the students once he learned that Snape had failed to find anything to help him and his mate. Fenrir had always preferred to attack children when the opportunity arose, and Snape couldn’t help but feel that allowing him into Hogwarts was asking for trouble.

However, with Hermione still sedated and with time being of the essence considering the way other situations were lining up, Snape felt he had little choice. He needed to wake Hermione, but he wanted to explain his hard-considered decision to Greyback and get his thoughts about it before he did so.

He carefully studied the werewolf as Greyback joined him in his classroom. Snape led the way into his old office and through to his private quarters, watching with interest as the hulking beast gazed longingly at Hermione. It was clear that the separation from her had taken its toll on Greyback; he seemed to be having some trouble retaining his most human form.

‘Tell me you’ve found something,’ Fenrir growled as Snape tried to usher him towards the seats by the fire.

Snape didn’t reply as he retrieved the much-reduced bottle of Firewhisky from the cupboard and brought it and two glasses to where the werewolf waited. He spent a few seconds opening the bottle and pouring the liquid before passing a glass to Greyback.

‘I’m sorry, Fenrir, I am unable to find anything to stop the enchantment,’ Snape replied slowly, his voice sombre. ‘Although your story is known, it is not a well-known tale outside of lycanthropic circles and none of the previous Headmasters has ever known of a human/lycanthrope pairing before this one.’

‘But your Dark Arts books,’ Fenrir said desperately. ‘Surely they must contain something, Severus — even if it’s not our specific pairing.’

Snape shook his head and replied coldly, ‘I can assure you that I have researched every possible tome and none of them deals in any way with the sort of problem you and Hermione have unleashed. I know it isn’t the answer you were hoping for, but I can’t help you.’

Watching as Greyback, scowling fiercely at Snape’s response, took a large mouthful of his drink, Snape continued, ‘Neither am I able to keep Hermione sedated any longer. I have been able to give her a little fluid to ensure she doesn’t die of thirst but I am not willing to allow this to continue indefinitely. I know that this will raise difficulties but I am already unsure what effect the potion has had on Hermione’s mind; I am aware of the problems long term exposure to it causes. She will need to be awakened tonight.’

Fenrir looked worried. ‘You do realise that as soon as she wakes she’ll be desperate for sex, don’t you?’

Snape nodded. ‘I am aware her . . . desire is likely to erupt upon waking but there is no other choice. I am not willing to leave her as she is . . . nor should you be.’

‘I’m trying to think of Hermione,’ Fenrir retorted, stung by Snape’s comment. ‘You have no idea how much of a toll our mating takes on her body, Severus, and I dread to think how frenetic our rutting will be after so long apart. Keeping away from her has been a monumental task for me; once she’s awake it will be impossible.’

‘You could leave,’ Snape suggested, although he knew Greyback would never agree to this.

‘So you can fuck her?’ Fenrir growled. ‘Still feeling sore that I stopped you last time?’

Snape shook his head and sighed. ‘No, I just thought it might be easier for Hermione if you weren’t here to stoke the arousal further.’

‘It doesn’t matter,’ Fenrir said, sounding frustrated. ‘The feeling inside her will be there whether I am or not and it will continue to grow, to overwhelm her until we mate, however many times she does it with someone else. Only I can give her what she needs . . . and even that doesn’t last long.’

‘Then the obvious thing for you to do is to turn her into a werewolf. You told me before that previous human mates were turned during mating; surely you can do the same with Hermione,’ Snape said matter-of-factly. He took a sip of his Firewhisky, then continued, ‘I know you’re desperately trying to stick to your agreement with Hermione that she remain human, but as you said it’s going to kill her, and sooner rather than later. She’s not a stupid girl. I’m sure that once the situation has been properly explained to her she’ll understand that she has no choice but to transform. She already knows a transformed werewolf so she will be aware that she will be able to live well enough. This would solve all your problems, surely?’

Fenrir began shaking his head when Snape first started speaking, but now he looked frantic.

‘I can’t do it,’ he told the surprised teacher. ‘It’s not possible or don’t you think I would have already gone down that route? I would do anything rather than give Hermione the pain she’s in, surely you must realise that by now?’

‘I don’t understand the problem,’ Snape admitted. ‘I assume it’s not because you’re worried that changing her will go wrong and you’ll kill her?’ He frowned. ‘Is it something to do with the amount of time she’s remained human since you were first mated?’

Fenrir shook his head. ‘No, that wouldn’t matter, turning can take place at any time. There’s no physical reason for me not to do it except that it would kill us both.’ Snape’s face took on a look of confusion. ‘What I didn’t tell you before, Severus was that Hermione was so worried about me turning or killing her that she made me make an Unbreakable Vow,’ Fenrir explained unhappily. ‘It binds me from being able to do anything to save her in the usual way. That’s why I sent her to see you, hoping that you could find a way to help us. Unless you know of a way to break the vow I can do nothing to end our suffering.’

Snape shook his head looking grave. ‘There is no way to break an Unbreakable Vow, that’s why it’s called unbreakable.’ He sighed. ‘I understand why Hermione would seek that protection but it’s a real shame she did so as it’s completely blocked the way forward.’ He took another sip of his drink, thinking. ‘Unless . . . .’

‘Unless what?’ Fenrir jumped on his words at once.

Snape shook his head, swilling the Firewhisky round his mouth, then he swallowed. ‘No . . . I don’t think you’ll like the thought I had,’ he said slowly.

‘Tell me,’ Fenrir barked. ‘Anything’s worth considering at this point.’

Snape shrugged. ‘You’re unable to turn Hermione because of the vow you made with her. I was just wondering whether another werewolf—’

Fenrir gave a loud angry growl and bared his now definitely more wolf-like teeth at Snape.

‘Hermione is _my_ mate,’ he said heatedly. ‘No other werewolf would dare to touch her. They know I would kill them if they dared to even sniff her.’

‘But surely, in this case, it’s different. You can’t turn Hermione but another werewolf could and then your problem would be solved,’ Snape said, trying to sound reasonable.

Fenrir appeared to be attempting to calm himself down.

‘It’s not going to happen, Severus. The only sure way to turn Hermione safely is during mating. No other werewolf would rut with _my_ mate as he would know it would immediately result in his death. But even if it weren’t taboo, none would touch Hermione. I told you, lycanthropes mate only once in their lives and none would choose a mate who was already mated to another — and a human turned werewolf wouldn’t be able to effect the change required for Hermione to survive. Only I can turn Hermione, and because of her vow, that is now impossible.’

‘If that’s the case then Hermione is doomed to die like the princess in the story did,’ Snape said sharply. ‘But unfortunately, that changes nothing. I still have to wake her up. I’m sorry, Fenrir.’ He looked intently at the distraught werewolf. ‘How is this going to affect you?’

‘When I kill her, you mean?’ Fenrir asked gruffly. ‘I don’t know. In the story, the lycanthrope went mad before he died of grief. The story wasn’t specific about how he died but I know he didn’t last long after the princess was taken away from him.’

Snape considered the werewolf’s response for a moment before asking, ‘What would happen to Hermione if you were to die before her? Would she recover or would the overwhelming desire still consume her?’

Fenrir shrugged. ‘I have no idea and nothing to base a guess on — although I’ll be honest, Severus, as selfish as it sounds I’m not willing to give up my life on the strength of a vain hope that Hermione would be saved. I want to focus on a way of saving us both.’  

‘But you already know that isn’t possible so perhaps you should consider sacrificing yourself,’ Snape retorted coldly. ‘Hermione is going to die if you continue the way you are — nothing can change that, according to you. You told me the werewolf in the story died too, so you’re both doomed anyway. Surely if Hermione really means that much to you, you’d be willing to do anything to save her life.’

Fenrir said nothing but scowled at Snape.

‘You also need to give some thought to your position in the upcoming war,’ Snape continued. ‘If Hermione manages to survive for a while what is going to happen when the battle between Potter and the Dark Lord begins, as it is sure to before too long? Your mate is Muggle-born and as such is an automatic enemy of Voldemort and she’s also a close friend of Potter’s. What will that mean for you and your pack?’

‘If that happens then I will follow my mate, of course. I have no loyalty to Voldemort and certainly none to those like Lucius Malfoy who blindly follow him. Despite everything, I rather like you, Severus, and wouldn’t choose to be on a different side from you but Hermione is my only interest now and I must do everything in my power to help her rather than that megalomaniac,’ Fenrir said honestly.

Snape nodded understandingly. ‘Are you ready for Hermione to be woken?’

‘How do you intend to do it?’ Fenrir asked.

‘I have a potion to give her. It will work immediately,’ Snape replied.

Fenrir's expression held a mixture of anxiety and excitement. ‘Can I give it to her, Severus?’

Snape looked at the werewolf appraisingly for a moment. He was well aware of what was likely to happen once Hermione was awake, having been through it with her before, and he was sure he wouldn’t be able to stop the couple any more than he had been able to last time.

Although risky, as Hermione’s condition wasn’t much improved over what it had been when she had been put to sleep, it was probably better that Greyback be the one to wake her, especially as he had other pressing situations requiring his intervention: Potter needed yet another gentle nudge to get him back to Hogwarts, and Snape wanted to talk to Albus about his thoughts on what would happen to Hermione should Greyback die before her.

The news that the werewolf was willing to fight on the side of the Order of the Phoenix was positive, too, in a way — as long as Hermione was still alive, otherwise, all bets would be off — another reason to get Potter back to the school as soon as possible to ensure he was as well prepared for his confrontation with Voldemort as Snape could manage.

He stood and drew a small dark blue bottle from his robes, holding it out to Greyback who stood to join him.

‘I have other business to attend to, so I can give you and Hermione some privacy for a while.’

‘Thank you, Severus. You have no idea how grateful I am,’ Fenrir told him.

‘You forget that I’ve already experienced the two of you together. Just make sure you explain to Hermione properly the gravity of the situation, Fenrir. She needs to be aware of what you’ve condemned her to. You owe her that much at least.’

‘I will explain everything to her, I promise,’ Fenrir said.

Snape nodded, looking vaguely satisfied. ‘I will be back in an hour. I suggest you ensure you’re both presentable when I arrive. And please, try not to kill Hermione.’

Fenrir, who had been grinning at Snape’s first comment, began to growl again at his second.

‘You make it sound like I want her to die. I don’t. There’s nothing I want less.’

Snape patted Greyback’s shoulder in a sympathetic manner. ‘I know that, Fenrir. I’m going now. Good luck.’

As Snape left the room he glanced back at Greyback, who was already leaning over the bed, his large clawed hand stroking back Hermione’s hair as he crooned sweet words she couldn’t yet hear.

Once he closed the door and walked through his study heading for the Headmaster’s office, Snape prayed to every god he could think of that Hermione would survive the upcoming encounter with her werewolf mate and would be well enough to aid her friends once they returned to the castle.


	8. Chapter 8

Hermione wasn’t feeling at all well. Aside from the ever-present gnawing pain deep inside her that never really seemed to fade regardless of whatever she and Fenrir did to try to stem it, she now knew she was not-so-slowly dying; her stupid human body was too fragile to accept the touch of her wonderful lover and it seemed there was nothing anyone could do about it.

The worst part about it was that she was to blame for the situation even though she couldn’t possibly have known what was going to happen when she had forced Fenrir to make the Unbreakable Vow.

The unbearable aching need had overwhelmed her the moment she awoke. Fortunately, Fenrir was there to help stem the pain for a short time, but it had left her tender and bruised. It was afterwards, as he held her tightly, that her lover apologised profusely as he explained that no cure had been found but they were unable to keep her sedated any longer in case the sleeping potion damaged her.

Fenrir had gone on to tell Hermione all about the problem of a human/lycanthrope pairing; the explanation of what he had unknowingly inflicted upon them obviously distressed him as he tried to be honest and explicit about what it meant for them both. He had not mentioned the vow, nor had he at any point intimated that the situation they found themselves in was Hermione’s fault, but she wasn’t stupid and while listening to the old lycanthrope tale he had told her, she rapidly worked out why there was no hope of a cure.

Professor Snape had been blunt, wanting to send Fenrir away completely as it was clear Hermione was once again being weakened by their regular need to mate, but somehow she had managed to convince the teacher to allow the werewolf to stay. Hermione remembered how she had felt at Malfoy Manor when she was separated from Fenrir and knew that the longer they were mated, the worse the feeling would grow.

Fenrir was trying to keep away from her for as long as possible to limit the amount of damage he was doing to her body, and during those periods Professor Snape, who she had now discovered was Headmaster of Hogwarts, kept her company and talked to her to try to take her mind off the crippling pain that separation caused. 

It was during these private conversations that the Headmaster told Hermione all about Harry’s quest, surprising her with the realisation that Lucius had kept her a prisoner for far longer than she had realised, the weeks she had thought it was having actually been several months. He even revealed to her what he could of Dumbledore’s plan, knowing that he would need her help when Harry and Ron eventually made it back to the school, something he assured Hermione should happen at any time in the next few days.

Professor Snape spent considerable time stressing the importance of getting Greyback on their side, as his werewolves were sure to follow their leader and could help to turn the tide of the battle. He also hinted at his own role in the upcoming war, and Hermione found herself admiring the teacher in a way she had never done before, understanding that he too was facing almost certain death.   

 

 

* * *

 

 

Then Harry was back at Hogwarts, and as much as part of her wanted to hear about his experiences, Hermione felt guilty because she didn’t want to leave Fenrir. The bond between them had strengthened even further, and being apart for even a short time was now almost completely unbearable. She had tried to feign ignorance of her friends’ return to the castle, but that was cut short by Professor Snape, who came to remind her of her obligations.

Fenrir completely understood Hermione’s reluctance to join her friends but was also aware that her future was inextricably linked with that of the “Boy Who Lived”, and he hoped that the break from him and their mating would give her body a chance to recover.

But nothing would remove Hermione from his side until Professor Snape was forced out of the castle by Professor McGonagall, who it appeared, didn’t realise that the Headmaster was still working for the Order of the Phoenix, and Voldemort, who had finally decided to attack, announced his intentions with regards to Hogwarts and Harry.

‘You have to go and help your friends now or it will be too late,’ Fenrir told Hermione.

‘I don’t want to leave you,’ she replied.

‘And yet you have to,’ he said gently. ‘Severus told you how much Potter needs your help, and the time is now.’

‘But you know what happens when we’re apart,’ Hermione said, her voice wheedling.

‘Perhaps if you’re busy concentrating on what needs to be done to help Potter successfully complete his mission the pain will go for a while,’ Fenrir suggested hopefully.

Hermione ran her hand down his chest. ‘I think we should go to bed first—’

Fenrir growled as he felt the old desire rising within him, the way it always did. He grabbed the tops of Hermione’s arms and pushed her away from him, keeping her at arm’s length.

‘Stop it,’ he said sharply. ‘This is important, Hermione. You know it is. If your friend fails and Voldemort wins he will kill you, you know this. You have to go and help . . . and you have to do it now.’

_I’m going to die anyway_ , Hermione thought bitterly, but the guilt had already surfaced once again and she knew she had to go and help Harry.

‘Can we make love just once more before I go?’ she begged.         

Fenrir shook his head. ‘There’s no time, my love, you know that. Anyway, just think: once this battle is over our lovemaking will be magnificent.’ He pulled Hermione close for a deep kiss before releasing her. ‘Go and assist your friends. I will go and gather my pack so we can help defend the castle against the Death Eaters.’

Knowing Fenrir was right, Hermione planted another brief kiss on her lover before rushing to join Harry and Ron. The sooner this was done, the sooner she and Fenrir could be together once more.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Harry and Ron were overjoyed to see Hermione again. They were both extremely relieved that she had managed to get away from Lucius Malfoy’s clutches in one piece. There was no time for explanations, though, so Hermione’s new life and the circumstances surrounding it weren’t mentioned, but both boys were worried at how pale and ill she looked. She seemed broken somehow, but neither of them wanted to be the one to ask the question. They had other more urgent things to do and little time to complete their tasks.

Within minutes of meeting up along with many others at the Room of Requirement, the three of them headed off. Harry, rather reluctantly went with Luna to find Rowena Ravenclaw’s lost diadem while Hermione went with Ron to find a Basilisk fang, he explaining as they went about the Horcruxes and the loss of Gryffindor’s sword to the Death Eater’s at Malfoy Manor.

By the time, they finally reached the Chamber of Secrets the dull ache, which had started to become painful as soon as she left Fenrir, had become almost crippling. Hermione had to work hard to focus on what they were supposed to be achieving rather than jumping on Ron, who had never seemed more attractive to her than he did at that moment.

There was one extremely sticky moment when Ron passed Hermione the Basilisk fang and told her to destroy the gold cup he was carrying, which he assured her was a Horcrux. At first, she didn’t want to do it, but after a little coaxing by her best friend, she managed to thrust the fang through the sparkling metal to destroy it.

They were standing so close that Hermione could smell Ron’s desire and arousal. It was nowhere near as strong or as keen as hers or Fenrir’s, but it was there all the same. Already sinking into the madness the pain forced upon her, she grabbed the redhead and pulled him to her, kissing him passionately.

As Ron returned the kiss, desire flared brightly in Hermione. The separation from her lover made her desperate and her hands began snaking over Ron’s body, trying to find and free the erection she was sure was there. But Ron pulled away, looking at Hermione in shock at her attack on him. Before she could say anything to explain her behaviour, he began to head back towards the bathroom, telling her gruffly that they needed to get back to Harry.

Hermione was embarrassed at what she had tried to do with her friend, but the urgent need was overwhelming and she had to battle hard to keep herself under control. How she managed to stop herself from grabbing Ron again she had no idea, but somehow she eventually managed to get her feelings back into some sort of order and she followed him back to the Great Hall — and then nothing mattered except helping Harry.     

 

 

* * *

 

 

Hermione looked around, taking in the destruction that surrounded her and the dead bodies that littered the floor of the Great Hall. She was close to dropping; she had trouble even standing, let alone walking. She knew part of it was sheer exhaustion after the stressful night of fighting, but it was also down to her incessant need to mate.

Her body was so fragile now that she wasn’t sure how much longer she would be able to survive Fenrir’s touch. The way she felt at the moment it was quite possible that their next mating, which she knew would be every bit as magnificent as he had promised albeit extremely wearing on her body, would be their last.

She watched as Ron broke away, running to join his family who were crowded around a body on the floor, knowing that one of the wonderful Weasleys — someone she cared for, but from where she was standing she was unable to establish who it was — hadn’t made it. She looked at the family, ticking the names off in her mind as she spotted them: Mr and Mrs Weasley, Ron, Ginny, Bill and Fleur, Percy and the twins — she stopped as she realised there was only one twin. It was one of the twins who was dead.

Hermione was numb, unable to feel anything at that moment, not even the sorrow that the death of a friend should have wrought. Even Professor Snape’s death earlier in the battle had engendered more sorrow than she could currently muster.

With a start, her tired brain realised that grief wasn’t the only thing she wasn’t feeling.

Panic began to flood her exhausted body, a sudden rush of adrenalin pushing Hermione to move as she looked around, desperately trying to find any sign of Fenrir. He couldn’t be in the Great Hall or its environs or he would have come to her by now; their need to be together normally overwhelmed all other feelings.

As she walked towards the door her mind slipped inside her body, examining the area that would usually be so painful at their separation. It was there, the dull ache, but it was nowhere near as rampant as Hermione would have expected considering the amount of time she and Fenrir had spent apart. It seemed that somehow, during the fighting, she had finally managed to subjugate the feeling.

Her heart fluttered with hope. If she and Fenrir could work out how she had managed to keep the need under control during the battle she would be able to do it in the future. If Fenrir could master it too, then they would no longer be tied to mating so frequently. It might even give them the time they needed to work out a way to save her.  

Hermione heard her name being called but she didn’t bother to stop or look round. Whoever was trying to get her attention, it wasn’t Fenrir, and he was the only person she needed now. Ron was with his family, where he should be at a time like this, Harry was with Ginny, and now Hermione just needed Fenrir’s strong arms around her, holding her tightly while she rested, or more likely mated.

Outside of the Great Hall, the school was even more of a mess, the Entrance Hall badly damaged by the fighting. There was no sign of Fenrir or his werewolves, just little pockets of students — dusty, bruised and bloody — huddled together, comforting and supporting each other.

Out of the corner of her eye, Hermione saw movement and turned her head. It wasn’t her lover. Lucius Malfoy and his loathsome family were edging their way along the wall, creeping away like thieves in the early morning light. A surge of fury rose within her that the blond man and his family had all survived, seemingly intact, but it didn’t last long. She was too exhausted to keep the rage simmering.

Ignoring the Slytherin trio she made her way out of the castle, across the battle-damaged courtyard, and out into the grounds. There were more people out here, weary as the others inside the castle. Neville was there with Hagrid, organising everyone who could walk to help those who couldn’t. Hermione couldn’t help but be amazed and impressed at Neville’s stamina.

Another makeshift area for bodies had been started beside a half demolished wall. A quick glance was enough for Hermione to spot Colin Creevey amongst them, a boy who shouldn’t even have been allowed to fight at his age. She turned away with tears in her eyes, not wanting to see anyone else she recognised.

No one stopped her as she walked across the grass, not entirely sure where she was headed. Hermione was following her instinct, somehow knowing that Fenrir and his werewolves wouldn’t stay too close to the school. They may have been fighting on the side of Harry and the Order of the Phoenix, but tensions and feelings were running high enough that innocent werewolves could be accidentally attacked or killed by an angry mob.

She was almost at the Forbidden Forest, in the shade of the trees, when she found them, huddled together around their own dead and wounded, just as weary as everyone else. Hermione’s eyes scanned the pack, searching desperately for her lover not certain whether her entrance to the group would be welcomed without him there. She didn’t know whether Fenrir had told his pack about their mating and didn’t want to find herself on the wrong end of claws and fangs.

‘Fenrir?’ she called out tentatively as she neared the group, hoping this would show that she was a friend, not a foe. Again she called, a little louder, surprised to hear the worry in her voice. As she called her lover’s name for the third time two werewolves broke away from the group and walked towards her, one almost human in aspect, the other not yet returned to human form.

‘You are Hermione Granger,’ the human-looking werewolf stated softly. He gazed on Hermione with mournful eyes. ‘My name is Henry.’

Hermione nodded, although it hadn’t been a question. As she looked back at the solemn werewolf a sudden feeling of dread crawled its way slowly up her spine. Why was Fenrir not here with his pack and the one coming to greet her? Had something happened to him? Had he been taken prisoner?

Nausea rose within her as she asked tremulously, ‘Where is Fenrir?’

‘I am so sorry,’ Henry said, his voice still as soft as a summer breeze.

As he said the words a lead weight filled Hermione’s stomach and she shook her head frantically, desperate not to hear the words she knew were coming. But without another word, Henry and the other werewolf stepped forward to hold her arms, gently supporting her as the rest of the pack moved back to reveal the body of Fenrir Greyback lying, as if asleep, at the head of a small group of bodies.

Hermione screamed, loud and raw and painful, the grief, terror and anger that had been bottled up inside her erupting like a volcano. Pulling herself from the grip of the werewolves she threw herself to the floor beside Fenrir’s body, her hand stroking his face as she gazed at him with tear-filled eyes.

He had been more wolf than human when he was killed, but Hermione didn’t care. She had loved him whichever incarnation he was in and now he had been taken away from her and she would never hear his deep voice or see his bright, sparkling eyes again.

Wrapping her arms around him she held him, squeezing and rocking him as she sobbed, the action doing nothing to ease her broken heart.


	9. Chapter 9

Hermione lay on her side, looking at the whitewashed wall. She was pretending to be asleep because she didn’t want to talk to Ginny. She didn’t want to talk to anyone really, although over the last couple of weeks all of them had tried to get through to her.

She knew they had questions — wanted to know what she had been doing with the werewolves and why she was so desperate to return to them once she woke from the deep sleep that exhaustion, grief and her weakened body had forced upon her. But she wasn’t ready to explain . . . wasn’t ready to face up to the reality of what had happened to her or deal with the loss. 

Hermione had stayed with Fenrir’s body, her arms still wrapped around him as the sun moved across the sky, the werewolves lamenting the loss of their fallen leader and pack-mates, their howls of despair filling the still morning.

Eventually, although she did not intend it, Hermione drifted into sleep, the werewolves’ cries no longer painful and heart-rending to her but rather soothing and comforting. She dreamt of Fenrir, and he pulled her into his strong arms, telling her that everything was going to be fine, that he would always love her — he would never leave her and would protect her forever.

It was while Hermione slept that Hagrid came to the werewolves. Relieved, they allowed him to take her back to the school and her friends as they were unsure of what to do with this frail human girl who showed no sign of leaving them. Fenrir was gone and a new leader would soon take his place, and there was no room for a human in their ranks even if she had been the beloved mate of their previous leader.

Hermione went to the Burrow with the remaining Weasleys and Harry, Hogwarts having been closed down for repairs. She was at the graveside when Fred was interred, her sorrow not only for the ginger-haired joker but also for her beloved Fenrir whose funeral she had not been able to attend, she wasn’t entirely sure whether werewolves even had funerals. She didn’t cry, though. She was unable to cry, too worried about what she might inadvertently unleash if she lost control even for a moment.

In the weeks after the funerals, she listened quietly and politely to the dinner table conversations as Harry and Ron told the assembled guests all about their adventures on the trail of Voldemort’s remaining Horcruxes and of the Deathly Hallows, while George recounted the Order’s work in helping Harry, providing bittersweet memories of his and his twin’s time on _Potterwatch_.

Everyone divulged their tales of the war and its aftermath and relived their memories of those who had died, seemingly needing to share their feelings in order to heal. But Hermione had remained reticent about her own ordeal at the hands of Lucius Malfoy and her sudden close association with the werewolves, not yet able to talk about what had happened or the lover she had so cruelly lost.

The dull ache was still there, still buried as deep inside her as it had been at the end of the battle, but Hermione knew now that she hadn’t managed to subjugate it: it had merely receded because her lover was dead.

Despite that, she could still feel it inside her, threatening to break free if she just concentrated on it hard enough and for that reason, she couldn’t think about Fenrir anywhere near as much or as deeply as she wanted to. Thinking about him caused longing, and longing would set off that untenable desire once more. Without her beloved werewolf to stem the need she would surely go mad. 

Hermione sighed loudly as she rolled over onto her back, now looking up at the ceiling and wishing, not for the first time, that she had died before Fenrir. That would have solved all her problems. How was she supposed to go on when everything that had made her life worth living had been taken away?

‘Are you okay?’ Ginny asked. She was lying on her side in her own bed and staring at Hermione.

Hermione turned her head to look at her friend. ‘I’m fine,’ she replied, giving a wan smile. ‘I was just thinking that I should get up and wishing I could be lazy and lie here for a bit longer.’

Ginny looked at Hermione without speaking for a moment. They both knew that what she had just said wasn’t at all what she was really thinking but Ginny wasn’t going to call her out on it. Hermione would talk when she was ready to, and if she felt she had to lie until she was able to share, then so be it.

No one but Hermione had any idea of what she had suffered at the hands of Lucius Malfoy and they would let her recover in her own way. Ginny rolled onto her back, stretching her arms as she straightened out a kink in her spine.

‘I suppose you’re right,’ she said with a yawn. ‘We should get up or Mum will be on the warpath. You know how she hates lollygaggers, as she calls them. Just ‘cos she only needs about three hours sleep a night she seems to think everyone else should be able to manage on that too,’ she complained. ‘Merlin only knows what crap she’s going to find for us to do today. You’d think she might cut us some slack after everything that happened at Hogwarts but she’s working us into the ground.’

‘She’s trying to block out her grief,’ Hermione said knowingly as she sat up, swinging her legs round and off the side of the bed before standing up. ‘She thinks if she’s busy she’ll be able to forget what happened to Fred. She’s passing it off onto everyone else as if it’s the best thing for them, too, not realising that people deal with grief in very different ways.’

‘So who are you grieving for, Hermione?’ Ginny asked softly as she followed her friend out of bed.

Hermione, who was in the middle of retrieving her clothes, paused for a second and stared at Ginny, her heart beating double time with sudden panic. Trying to keep her voice even, she asked, ‘What makes you think I’m grieving for someone?’

Ginny shrugged. ‘You’ve been really quiet since we got back to the Burrow and you never laugh anymore. I know we’ve been through some tough times, especially recently, but you seem to have been through more than most of us. We thought maybe Lucius Malfoy had done something to you . . . but I’ve just realised that you’re grieving, aren’t you?’

Hermione shook her head as if to disagree but an image of Fenrir popped into her mind. She tried to push it back down but by the time she had, Ginny had made her way around the bed and wrapped her arms around her, holding her tightly.

‘I know you don’t want to talk about it but maybe it would help if you did,’ Ginny told her quietly. ‘Or, you know, have a good cry or something to get it out of your system.’

Hermione was beginning to feel overwhelmed, swamped with sudden emotion that she was trying hard to fight. She hadn’t realised how powerful one hug could be. Part of her wanted to succumb to the warmth and safety it offered, wanted to sink into it and let go of all her pain, anger and sorrow, but she knew if she did she would be lost. She couldn’t think about Fenrir now, she just couldn’t.

‘Let go, Hermione,’ Ginny said soothingly, one of her hands stroking Hermione’s hair as she held her. ‘You don’t have to keep it all bottled up inside. It’s okay to let go.’

‘No, I can’t,’ Hermione retorted. She sounded scared.

She knew what letting go would unleash and was worried that once she started she wouldn’t be able to stop. But as hard as Hermione tried to keep her feelings under control she realised the tears were welling and she couldn’t hold them back; the pain in her heart matched by that dull ache she had managed to keep locked down inside her for so long.

Ginny guided her back to the bed and the two of them sat down as she continued to hold Hermione, watching with growing concern as her friend tried and failed to stop the tears that Ginny was convinced she needed to shed to move on.

‘What happened to you?’ she whispered, worry clouding her voice.

Ginny’s concern, so caring and gentle, was the last straw for Hermione. Like a dam bursting its banks, her tears began to fall, flowing freely as she pressed against Ginny’s shoulder. A painful keening noise erupted from that place deep inside where her desire and sorrow had intermingled for so long.

Although at first startled by the sound, Ginny continued to comfort her, whispering softly in her ear as she rocked Hermione, giving her the chance to share her grief or not, as she chose.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Molly Weasley was on her way to rouse the children out of bed when she heard the noise coming from Ginny’s room. Immediately, the dull pain in her heart intensified at the sound of Hermione — she knew it wasn’t Ginny who was reacting that way — sobbing her heart out. Automatically she reached for the door handle, intending to go and comfort the distressed girl, but she managed to stop herself.

Rumours had been circulating ever since Lucius Malfoy abducted Hermione and although Molly and Arthur didn’t want to believe any of them were true, it had to be admitted that there was usually no smoke without fire. It did seem extremely odd that Hermione had managed to escape her captor after being held for so long and it was clear that she had been through an ordeal of some description, one that had left her fragile and weak.

Arthur had instructed the family not to badger Hermione about her experiences, hoping that she would open up of her own accord once everyone else began sharing their stories. But Hermione had remained quiet and withdrawn, the seriousness that she had always shown intensifying until it eclipsed everything else. She never smiled now and she certainly hadn’t opened up to anyone about what she had been through . . . until today.

It seemed that somehow Ginny had managed to get beneath the shield Hermione had so carefully erected and had finally got her to talk. It was probably better that the two girls were left alone to work through Hermione’s distress. Molly would be there to offer comfort later if it was required.

Turning away from the door, she continued up the stairs towards Ron’s room.

 

 

* * *

 

 

‘Do you want to tell me about it?’ Ginny asked quietly. Hermione was still sobbing on her shoulder, but the intensity had died down and she seemed more in control.

Hermione shook her head.

‘Is it something to do with Lucius Malfoy?’ Ginny pushed.

She was determined to get Hermione to talk now she had found a chink in her armour. Like the rest of her family, and probably most of Hogwarts, Ginny had heard the rumours about the blond Death Eater and Hermione’s time spent in his company. She wasn’t going to directly say anything, though, she would leave it to Hermione to fill her in on what had really happened between them.

‘Did he do something bad to you, Hermione?’

Hermione shook her head again, then pulled back to look at Ginny. Her face was a mess of tear-streaked cheeks, made worse by her look of distress.

‘Lucius Malfoy didn’t touch me,’ she said, her voice gruff after all the crying. Ginny went to reply but Hermione held her hand up to stop her. ‘Oh, he wanted to. He wanted me to become his lover but I refused to even consider it.’  She gave a small, bitter laugh. ‘In fact, I refused so much that he tried to force me into it, and in doing so he pushed me straight into the arms of someone else.’

Ginny bit her lip for a moment as she listened to her friend. ‘And that someone else, did they . . . .’

She broke off, not wanting to say the word “die” as it sounded too harsh, too uncaring, even though she was trying to be supportive and knew that it could be the only reason Hermione was so upset.

Hermione gave a small nod, then sniffed as she wiped away her tears with her hand. ‘He died during the battle.’

‘I’m so sorry, Hermione.’

Ginny murmured the words quietly as the confirmation made her wonder who Hermione’s mystery lover was. She had no intention of pushing her friend into revealing his identity unless she wanted to, but she couldn’t help but consider the people she knew who had lost their lives in that stupid fight, trying to work out for herself who it could be.

She could feel her own tears rising as Fred’s face popped into her mind for a moment. He wasn’t Hermione’s mystery man, of that Ginny was certain otherwise, his funeral and the aftermath would have elicited more of a response from her. Whoever Hermione was grieving for was obviously someone outside of their usual circle of friends, someone she had become involved with whilst in Lucius Malfoy’s custody. But who would have had access to her during that period?

After swirling around for a few seconds, Ginny’s mind drifted towards Professor Snape. Hermione had spent a lot of time with the Potions Master turned Headmaster after her return to Hogwarts, he had been pretending to be a Death Eater for years and been a close friend of the Malfoys, and he had died during the battle.

Had Snape been Hermione’s lover? It seemed unlikely, but then Ginny had trouble imagining her with anyone but Ron. Yet her friend had just told her there was someone. But where did the werewolves come into it and why had she been so desperate to track them down? Was it because they had something to do with the death and Hermione had been looking for confirmation of that?

But if that was the case then Snape probably wasn’t Hermione’s lover either. As far as Ginny could remember Snape had died at Voldemort’s hands in the Shrieking Shack and she didn’t think he had any connection with the werewolves. It was all a mystery and she wished Hermione would open up and talk to her about it.  

Ginny gave a small cough as she rubbed her eyes, and this was enough to stop her tears. She focussed once more on Hermione who, now that she had almost stopped crying too, seemed calm once more.

‘Did the werewolves do it?’ Ginny asked, unable to keep her curiosity about Hermione’s association with them bottled up any longer. ‘Did they . . . .’

Once again her voice trailed off as she saw Hermione’s face at the question.

‘They were on our side,’ Hermione told her quietly.

Ginny looked surprised. ‘But that werewolf who turned Professor Lupin . . . what was his name? Greybeard or something, wasn’t it? He was one of Voldemort’s, so I’m sure his pack were all on his side too.’ She paused for a moment. ‘Actually, I think he died during the battle as well. I’m sure someone . . . was it Hagrid . . . mentioned it. Good riddance, I say . . . and remember what he did to Bill, as well.’ She looked satisfied and added maliciously, ‘He was a really nasty bastard by all accounts. I’m glad he died. He deserved it.’

Hermione stared with horror at her friend as she criticised Fenrir, her heart twinging with pain at the words as her face hardened. Finally, Ginny stopped speaking and Hermione stood up, her expression angry.

‘You know nothing about him,’ she said coldly as she moved to pick up her clean clothes from where she had left them over the footboard end of the bed.

She walked towards the door, collecting her wash bag and towel on the way as Ginny watched her, blinking in surprise at Hermione’s sudden outburst.

Then Hermione turned and looked back at her friend. ‘His name was Greyback, not Greybeard . . . Fenrir Greyback . . . and I loved him more than I’ve ever loved anyone in my entire life.’

Before Ginny could say another word, Hermione opened the bedroom door and left, fighting down the urge to slam it behind her as she went. She made her way to the bathroom rapidly, desperate not to bump into anyone else. Her anger with Ginny was immense after her comments, and Hermione knew it would only take one wrong word from another member of the family and she would lash out in her pain, possibly ruining her relationship with the Weasley family forever.

Hermione did slam the door of the bathroom before she locked it. She enjoyed hearing the sound, pleased to be closeted away on her own where she could think about her beloved Fenrir without stupid Ginny Weasley being a bitch about him. In her anger, Hermione thought of all sorts of things she could say to Ginny to ensure she was as upset as Ginny had made her, and she was tempted to leave the bathroom and go back and argue with the redhead. Instead, she took a deep breath, forcing herself to calm down.

Once she had, she opened her wash bag and pulled out a white stretchy towelling headband and used it to pull her hair back from her face, then set to work carefully washing before finding her toothbrush and toothpaste. As she cleaned her teeth she looked at herself in the mirror. The tears were gone, her annoyance at Ginny’s words pushing them away and leaving a scowl on her face instead. What did bloody Ginny Weasley know about anything anyway, and who was she to judge Fenrir? Hermione glared at the mirror, checking her freshly-brushed teeth. She pulled the floss from her wash bag and began to use it as she raged against the unfairness of what Ginny had said.

So, they all had to be upset and respectful at Fred’s death when everyone knew that actually, he could be a right royal pain-in-the-arse when he wanted to be, but it was fine for them to be mean and rude about her beloved Fenrir just because he was a werewolf. Ginny didn’t even know him and yet she had said she was glad he was dead. 

That was the bit that hurt most — that her so-called friends had judged Fenrir without even knowing him and were glad he was dead. Hermione put away her toiletries, in her anger pushing them back into the bag with more force than was strictly necessary. If that was how Ginny felt then surely the rest of them must feel the same way, and if that was the case Hermione didn’t want to be around them any longer. She would never be able to properly grieve for her lost love when all she could think about was how glad the rest of them were that he was gone.

She picked up the towel and wiped her hands on it before folding it up. For a moment, Remus and Tonks, now dead and buried as Fenrir was, flitted into her memory. Hermione sat down on the edge of the bath and stared down at the folded towel feeling the tears well in her eyes again. It was true that Fenrir had done some awful things during his lifetime, but he had changed since he had been with her, had become a better person — or at least had not been quite as vicious as before their mating. He had fought against Voldemort and his followers, had even died fighting against the Death Eaters, and he had loved her every bit as much as she had loved him. Yet he was to be accorded no honours amongst her friends because of his prior actions.

She had forgotten that Fenrir had been the one to attack Bill, but at least he hadn’t killed him. He hadn’t even turned him into a werewolf. Bill could quite easily have been just as badly injured by another Death Eater, but now Fenrir was dead there would be no chance for him to redeem himself in the eyes of the Weasley clan. It seemed so unfair.

Now that Ginny had mentioned his name Hermione couldn’t stop thinking about him and the pain that had disappeared so deep inside of her had started up once more. The dull ache she had hoped never to feel again made her suddenly anxious and afraid. How could she stem the desire when her lover was no longer around to give her the relief she needed? How would she stop herself from going mad? And now she didn’t even have Professor Snape to help her.

She sighed again as she thought of Ginny, probably still waiting for her in the bedroom. She didn’t want to talk to her now, but then she didn’t want to face the rest of the family either. She needed to leave the Burrow, needed to follow her own path to salvation. Her friends couldn’t help her now, or maybe ever, with their hostile view of Fenrir clouding everything. But she couldn’t leave the Burrow without going back to the bedroom to pack up her belongings and that meant dealing with Ginny.

Hermione’s heart sank at the thought of having to talk to her again, but it couldn’t be helped. There was no other way she was going to get out. She unlocked the bathroom door and peered out into the corridor making sure there was no one else around then made her way back to the bedroom trying to force herself to stay calm.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Ginny was shocked at Hermione’s outburst that saw her storming out of the bedroom. For the first thirty seconds or so after Hermione left she sat there, almost frozen like a statue, before the words her friend had said filtered through her brain so she could actually make some sense of them. Even then she was having trouble believing what she had heard.

The person Hermione was grieving for, the one she was in love with, was the werewolf who had almost killed Ginny’s brother, Bill. It obviously answered the question of why Hermione had been so determined to find the werewolves, but it still made absolutely no sense.

What on earth had possessed Hermione to take a werewolf as vicious as Fenrir Greyback as a lover . . . and why hadn’t he killed her or at the very least turned her into a werewolf as he had tried to do with Bill and managed to do with Professor Lupin? Why would Hermione even have considered it knowing what that animal had done to friends of hers? She had told Ginny that Lucius Malfoy had driven her to it, but surely nothing he could have done would be bad enough for that, would it?

Ginny got dressed as she waited for Hermione to return, annoyed at first at Hermione’s attitude . . . no . . . at Hermione’s confession. But as she waited she remembered what she had said about being pleased about the werewolf’s death and she understood why her friend had acted as she had. If Hermione really was in love with Greyback then it was understandable that she had been upset by the things she had said. Ginny couldn’t help but feel bad because although she felt sorry for her friend she still couldn’t help but feel glad that the werewolf had died. No wonder Hermione hadn’t wanted to share her grief with anyone else. How could she when she knew everyone would judge her badly for her choice of lover, would condemn her for choosing someone who had caused pain and strife for their family? 

She waited so long for Hermione that Ginny began to wonder whether she was actually going to come back. Perhaps her friend was stalling, hoping she would get dressed and go downstairs rather than wait to have another conversation. This was possible and certainly more likely than Hermione having gone straight downstairs after finishing up in the bathroom.

But Ginny had no intention of going downstairs.

Regardless of who Hermione had chosen to love, she was going through pain and Ginny knew she wouldn’t be much of a friend if she didn’t at least give her the opportunity to get it off her chest. She had to get Hermione to talk about the werewolf and what had happened to her, and however shocking Hermione’s confession might be Ginny had to make sure not to judge her. If she had to wait all day for Hermione to come back then that was what she would do. Hermione was a friend, almost family really, and she could not be allowed to suffer on her own.

Ginny had just finished making Hermione’s bed, having already finished with her own, when the door opened slowly and Hermione came into the room. She had obviously been crying again although her face was currently dry. Ignoring Ginny completely, Hermione began to put away her wash bag, hanging the damp towel over the chair to air.

‘Hermione, I’m so sorry for what I said about your lover,’ Ginny said as she watched her friend moving slowly and deliberately around the room, collecting up her belongings. ‘I obviously didn’t realise that you and he were intimate . . . and I was upset because of what he did to Bill.’

Hermione didn’t say anything nor did she stop her collecting. Ginny watched her tensely, wondering what else she could say, but then Hermione moved to her bed and placed the things she was carrying onto it. She turned to look at Ginny, her face a mask of despair.

‘Fenrir didn’t kill Bill,’ she pointed out. ‘Nor did he turn him into a werewolf. Bill could have just as easily been injured by one of the other Death Eaters who was there that night. Fenrir was just fighting in his usual way.’

Ginny felt herself stiffen with anger at Hermione’s words. She couldn’t believe her friend was trying to defend the werewolf.

‘He bit him, though,’ Ginny said coldly. ‘And he was fighting on the side of the Death Eaters. Why are you making excuses for him?’

‘I’m not,’ Hermione said miserably. ‘I’m just pointing out the facts. Your brother didn’t die nor did he become a werewolf, so while I understand you didn’t like Fenrir for what he did, your utter hatred of him is unfair, especially when I know the sort of man he became before the end.’

She looked down at the bed for a moment before raising her head to look at Ginny once more.

‘I loved Fenrir with all my heart and he loved me just as much. He and the members of his pack that died did so fighting for Harry and the Order of the Phoenix. They were killed and injured by Death Eaters, just as your brothers were, and because he died he will never be able to prove to you that he wasn’t the monster you think he is — and I will never be able to grieve for him properly because all the time I will know that you and your family are resenting me for having those feelings about him.’

Ginny heard the pain in Hermione’s voice and her heart went out to her. As distasteful and horrific as it was to contemplate, if what Hermione had said was true then both Fred and Hermione’s werewolves had been killed fighting the same foe. How could she honestly mourn the loss of one yet not acknowledge the loss of the other when they had not only fought for the Order but changed sides to do so, an act that would have gained the entire pack immediate death had Voldemort learned of their treachery? 

‘You’re right that I’ve been unfair to judge,’ Ginny admitted stiffly. She moved over to Hermione and took her hands, pulling her down onto the bed. ‘But I still don’t understand how you and Fenrir became lovers. How on earth did that happen?’

Hermione studied Ginny’s face for a moment as if searching for a trick but apparently found nothing. She sighed loudly and said, ‘I told you, it was Lucius Malfoy. He forced me into it. But I honestly had no idea what was going to happen.’ She squeezed Ginny’s hands that she was still holding. ‘Look, if I tell you about it . . . if I tell you everything that happened will you promise me you won’t tell anyone else?’

Ginny nodded her agreement but said, ‘But why don’t you want anyone else to know, Hermione? Don’t you think everyone would understand better if you explained it?’

‘I don’t want everyone judging me,’ Hermione admitted. ‘And they will do. What happened was strange, and I don’t know exactly what the outcome is going to be as I’m still living through it, but I can’t make it public at the moment.’

Ginny smiled. ‘Anything you tell me will be our secret, I promise. If you want to share later then I’ll be there to support you, but you don’t need to tell anyone else unless you feel comfortable doing so.’

Hermione returned the smile, although it was slightly wan. ‘Actually, I think I need to tell someone,’ she admitted. ‘The only person I’ve ever spoken about it to apart from Fenrir was Professor Snape, and I didn’t even tell him everything because I was too embarrassed.’

‘I’m here to listen to whatever you want to tell me,’ Ginny reiterated.

Hermione looked at her friend, took a deep breath then told her, ‘It started sometime after Lucius abducted me from the Transfiguration seminar . . . .’


	10. Chapter 10

Hermione was surprised at the relief she felt once she had told Ginny everything that had happened since Lucius abducted her. She left nothing out, however difficult or embarrassing it was to tell, and she even tried to describe the sensation of the dull ache, after admitting to Ginny’s astonishment how she had tried to seduce Professor Snape.

She wasn’t sure she had succeeded in that, even though the pain had once again become a never-ending part of her life. Currently, she was still able to keep it under control, the need for sex a desire that could be overcome rather than an imperative she had to satisfy, but Hermione was aware that the urge was growing and eventually she would have to take steps to curb the need.

Ginny turned out to be far more understanding than Hermione had ever expected. Once she had listened to the ordeal Lucius had put Hermione through and the surprise outcome of her mating with Fenrir, she began to understand that her view of the werewolf was more than slightly tainted by what had happened to her brother.

Hearing about Fenrir through Hermione’s eyes, while clearly biased in the other direction, gave Ginny a more reasoned idea of what the werewolf was actually like and her automatic hatred of him began to wane. It was true that she would never be able to forgive him for what he had done to Bill, but it no longer completely defined her feeling for him which made it easier for her to comprehend what Hermione was going through.

Eventually, Ginny managed to persuade Hermione to talk to others: at first to Harry and Ron, her best friends for so many years. She sat with them as Hermione explained about how her life had changed so much because of Lucius Malfoy and had gone on to apologise to Ron for what she had put him through in the Chamber of Secrets.

She was there, too, when Hermione explained to Mr and Mrs Weasley, knowing that her presence would help to bridge the obvious gap between them. Her mother was upset and angry at first, just as Ginny had been, unable to understand why Hermione would choose to align herself with an enemy of the family. But her father remained curiously silent on the matter, listening carefully to everything that was said.

Later, once Hermione had left the Burrow, Ginny asked him why he had never said anything and he told her that he felt Hermione had enough to be coping with without him adding his thoughts to the mix. What his thoughts were Ginny had never discovered as he refused to talk about it any further.

He was right about Hermione having enough to cope with, though. It was almost another three months before she had finally admitted to Ginny that she thought she was pregnant. She had been unsure, as her periods had never been particularly regular anyway and the stress of everything she had lived through over the previous year obviously wasn’t going to contribute to making them any more so.

But eventually, she came to the conclusion that she couldn’t leave it any longer. When she confided in her friend, Ginny insisted that she do a pregnancy test. Ginny held Hermione while she cried for over an hour when the result came back positive, assuring her friend that she was more than able to cope with having a baby, even a part-werewolf one, if that was what she decided to do.

Hermione fretted about the situation, not sure she could cope without Fenrir there to help and support her. How could she do this alone? She still dreamt of him regularly — such realistic dreams that she was almost convinced he had come back to her — so as far as she was concerned he knew all about the baby, but at the same time, she had never felt more alone.

She so desperately wanted this physical reminder of her love for the werewolf to come to fruition but at the same time, she was terrified that she was too young or that she was too frail to carry and care for the child inside her.

Although the Weasleys had been magnificent in accepting her condition and were more than happy for her to stay with them so they could help her both during and after the pregnancy, Hermione knew she had to leave the Burrow and try to find the werewolves once more. And she needed to do it quickly. As that inexorable ache increased within her core and the baby grew inside her, her body began to weaken as it had when she was with Fenrir.

Hermione’s sleep patterns had been erratic ever since she had been taken prisoner by Lucius, but now she was lucky to manage three hours a night and it was beginning to affect her health. She was pale and drawn, her skin hanging greyly over her face, her eyes dark sockets containing reddened bloodshot eyes, and she lacked energy.

It didn’t seem to matter how well Mrs Weasley fed Hermione or what potions and vitamins she took. She knew she was slowly dying again, and it was her baby and the enchantment that she had never managed to get rid of that were causing it.

Hermione had a feeling that only the werewolves could help her. She knew her friends would be upset at her leaving, but she also knew that they wouldn’t stop her doing what she knew to be right.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Hermione shivered and zipped up her jacket as she gazed unhappily into the distance. She had to admit she was lost. For days, she had been trekking around this forest trying to find any sign of the werewolf village that she was sure was in the vicinity but so far she’d had no luck. The problem, she knew, was that they didn’t want to be found so they had obviously put some sort of repelling charm on the place to deter outsiders. Although they were werewolves most of them had at one time or another been wizards and witches and they all still had their wands even if they didn’t use them very often.

With a massive sigh, she fought to release the backpack she was wearing, needing to rest the heavy weight of it for a moment. Hermione was tired from the incessant walking, her swollen legs were aching and heavy, her body in pain from the baby that was restless within her belly. As her little wolfling kicked once again she moaned out loud, dropping the bag to the ground and bending forward to wrap her arms around her stomach.

‘Rest, little one,’ she whispered desperately, her fingers stroking over her stomach in the hope that it would soothe the fractious child within, although she aware that it was unlikely to work for long.

It seemed that her pregnancy had been somewhat speeded up by the inclusion of lycanthrope blood in the mix. It wasn’t long after she left the Burrow, having assured the Weasleys that she would be perfectly fine and would let them know immediately as soon as she was settled, that Hermione had started to swell. Suddenly, uncomfortably aware that she had less time before the birth than she had originally anticipated, she had spent the best part of a week holed up in the Hogwarts Library, even though the school was still closed, researching the werewolves in an attempt to discover where they lived.

Hermione whimpered again, the pain growing as the baby continued to move about. He had been this way for the last few hours and she was convinced that it was because he could detect other werewolves in the area even if she couldn’t. She was obviously closer than at any time since she had begun looking for them and as she sank to the ground and leant her sore back against a tall tree, she couldn’t help but hope they would pick up on the child and come to investigate. Fenrir’s ache was still there, too, still eating away at her core, but for once the pain from the baby was masking it and her need for sex was at the lowest level it had ever been.

She knew she was rapidly getting weaker, her baby was killing her just as surely as Fenrir had been, but she didn’t care. She just needed to get back to the werewolves, needed to leave her baby in the care of those who would look after him and cherish him, not treat him as sub-human as the Ministry of Magic would do had she stayed with the Weasleys. She hadn’t even been able to contemplate returning to the Muggle world. It would have been difficult enough to explain to her disappointed parents why she was pregnant at eighteen without having to explain her child’s lineage, and they would never have been able to remain there even if her parents wanted her to.

Hermione slowly pulled the heavy backpack towards her, unzipping it to retrieve a bottle of water. She peered into the depths to see what food she still had left. There wasn’t much; a chunk of now stale bread and half a slice of ham, wrapped in the waxy paper it had been bought in. There was also a rather wrinkly apple and a blackened and squashed banana. If she didn’t find the werewolves tonight she was going to have to leave the forest to go shopping. With the baby to feed as well, she couldn’t go without food for long.

She rubbed the apple on her jogging pants then took a bite of it as she stroked her stomach once again, silently soothing the dweller within as she closed her eyes. She was so tired, she desperately needed to rest — to sleep. But every time she dropped off something would wake her: a soft sound like a voice in her ear, the babe kicking her in the kidneys, or the quiet susurration of the breeze rustling the leaves on the trees.

Efficient as ever, Hermione had a tent packed in her bag, but this evening she was too exhausted to put it up. She rummaged in the pack once more and pulled out her old school cloak, draping it over her legs as a blanket as she took a mouthful of the remaining water, gauging the amount she could safely drink and still have some left in the morning.

Once finished with eating, she wrapped the cloak around her more tightly and her heavy eyelids closed as the pain became too much and began to overwhelm her. For a moment, she debated whether to take the final potion that she had been carrying with her, provided by Mrs Weasley to help dull the pain without harming the baby, but she decided against it. She had already squandered the previous ones not realising how deep the pain would run. If she didn’t find the werewolves soon she would need the painkiller for the birth, which she had no doubt was going to be difficult and excruciatingly painful.

The baby kicked again and Hermione moaned, louder this time, not caring if anyone could hear her — in fact, actually hoping that someone would hear her and would come to help. There was more rustling in the trees and she forced her eyes open, looking around hopefully. But it was only the wind. Exhausted and disappointed, she closed her eyes and dropped her head, drifting into an uncomfortable sleep.

 

 

* * *

 

 

When Hermione opened her eyes she blinked twice at the bright light before she managed to focus on her surroundings. She was in a bed, in a room, but she wasn’t at the Burrow. Wherever she was it was even more rustic than her friends’ home. She glanced around to see if there was any clue but there was nothing except an old chair containing her backpack and a dresser that had a range of bottles on it. There was also a jug of water, and on spotting it she realised she was dying of thirst.

Hermione tried to sit up, intending to get out of bed, but a wave of pain so violent that it made her cry out forced her back down. She clenched her eyes shut to stop the tears that formed automatically as she gripped her stomach.

‘No, don’t move!’ a gruff voice said.

The speaker had a thick accent that was quite hard to understand. Hermione couldn’t have said exactly where it came from, but if she had to guess she would have said somewhere in Eastern Europe. As she forced her eyes open she saw an old and very hairy woman, wearing a black dress and a dark maroon headscarf leaning over her. The woman was holding a flannel and looking at her worriedly.

‘You stay in bed. You have a fever,’ the woman said. She was clearly worried that Hermione couldn’t understand her.

Hermione nodded to show she understood but said faintly, ‘Water . . . I’m thirsty . . . please.’

The old woman put a hairy and rather claw-like hand on Hermione’s brow for a moment then nodded as if satisfied. She leant forward and put the flannel to Hermione’s lips.

‘Not drink, you’ll be sick. You suck,’ she explained helpfully.

Hermione realised that the flannel was wet. She took it in her mouth and sucked at the moisture, almost moaning with pleasure as a little fluid eased her parched throat. She was desperate to drink but understood that it wouldn’t be wise to take too much water in one go. She sucked for a second time on the flannel before the woman took it away, watching her carefully all the while.

‘Where am I?’ Hermione asked.

The woman continued to study her for a moment as if debating whether to answer the question. She put a hand on Hermione’s stomach through the sheet that covered her and the baby began to move, kicking Hermione with enough force to make her cry out.

‘Strong boy, like his father,’ the old woman said, sounding satisfied.

Like his father? The woman knew Fenrir? Hermione’s heart soared as she realised she had reached her goal.

‘This is the werewolf village?’ she asked hopefully. ‘Where Fenrir’s pack live?’

The old woman made a tutting noise as if she was sucking on her lips. ‘Not Fenrir’s pack now he’s dead. Draven Blackscar is leader of the pack now.’

‘Fenrir was my mate,’ Hermione said. She gripped her belly as the wolfling gave another kick. ‘My name is—’

‘Hermione Granger,’ the old woman said gently. Her hand brushed Hermione’s brow again. ‘The beloved human mate of Fenrir Greyback.’

‘I loved him, too,’ Hermione whispered. She could feel the tears rising as she thought of Fenrir.

‘This is why you are still alive,’ the old woman told her. ‘That and the baby. Had you been any other human you would have been ripped apart. You nearly were anyway, but fortunately, the one who found you first wasn’t alone and you were recognised. You were unconscious and hot with fever, so you were brought here.’

‘How long have I been here?’ Hermione asked. A vision of the Weasleys, worried and panicking about her, popped into her mind. She had promised to tell them when she arrived safely with the werewolves.

The old woman shrugged. ‘A few days, a week at most. The other wolf mothers have been here too, watching over you as you slept, making sure you survived to give birth to your son.’

‘The wolf mothers.’ Hermione gave a faint smile. ‘Fenrir said you used to tell him stories but he never believed them. You told him one . . . what was it called?’ She broke off for a moment, her brow creasing with concentration as she tried to remember. ‘Ah yes, _The Moon Princess and the Wolf_ , wasn’t it?’

The wolf mother made a clucking noise again. ‘So he did remember the stories even if he didn’t heed them.’ She shook her head. ‘He was a foolish boy.’

‘He didn’t think about the story until it was too late,’ Hermione said sadly. ‘He mated with me to help me out, to save me from a fate that I thought worse than death but it enchanted us both. It was so unfair when he was only trying to help me.’

She gave another sharp hiss at the pain and clutched once more at her stomach.

‘You are still ill and must rest,’ the wolf mother said firmly, although not harshly. Hermione closed her eyes as the woman stroked her forehead again. ‘You must get well to deliver the baby.’

‘I’m not going to survive this, am I?’ Hermione mumbled. She seemed to be drifting off into sleep, suddenly exhausted again.

‘Hush, child, sleep now,’ the wolf mother said quietly, her accent a soothing lullaby to the spent girl.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Hermione tried to stay asleep. She had been dreaming of her beloved Fenrir and didn’t want him to leave her and the baby alone; didn’t want to feel that dull ache of desire or the pain in her heart that would be there in the waking world, fighting with the pain of their growing child. Unfortunately, however hard she tried, she could feel herself being forced into wakefulness, Fenrir only a memory that faded even as she fought to hang on to him.

‘You’re awake then, finally,’ said a brisk voice.

Hermione opened her eyes and looked around for the owner. There was no trace of an accent so it probably wasn’t one of the wolf mothers, but it was female and had a feral quality that Hermione associated with the werewolves.

‘Baba Nuna and Baba Masi have told me that you are sufficiently recovered to have visitors, so I thought I had better come and see the human who took my son away from me,’ the woman added coldly.

Hermione shuffled in the bed, attempting to sit up so she could see the woman who was speaking, but it was difficult as the baby was now so large and her body was so weak. For a moment the woman watched her struggle, then she moved closer and leant over the bed to take hold of Hermione’s arms to help her. Hermione smiled her thanks but her smile died when she saw the stony expression on the woman’s face.

She could see the resemblance between Fenrir and his mother: their eyes were the same and he had her chin. Although she, too, was dressed in black and had grey hair, she wore no headscarf and was far younger than the wolf mothers, but she wasn’t young by any stretch of the imagination. Hermione thought of Fenrir for a moment and calculated his mother’s age to be even older than that of the old Headmaster of Hogwarts, Albus Dumbledore, who had been at least one hundred and fifteen years old when he died.

‘I didn’t take him away from you,’ Hermione replied quietly. ‘We were going to come back here once the war was over. That was always the plan.’

‘And yet, instead, he died . . . fighting a battle that wasn’t even anything to do with him. He shouldn’t have been there,’ the old woman insisted, her voice filled with an accusing bitterness. ‘My son died because of you.’

Hermione shook her head. ‘That’s not true. Fenrir would have been at the battle anyway. Voldemort would have ordered him to fight. He would have stood just as much chance of dying for him. At least he died fighting for what was right.’

‘So you say.’ The woman’s voice was more of a growl now. ‘You enchanted him and so he followed you rather than another wizard.’ She spat the final word as if tasting something disgusting. ‘But what makes your side any better than his? I don’t see your Ministry treating us with any regard, and certainly not better. At least the Dark Lord allowed us to follow our true natures.’

‘He was just using you,’ Hermione said. ‘If he had won, Voldemort would have eradicated you just as he wanted to do with the Muggles and Muggle-borns. He had no love for anyone but himself and his Pure-bloods. No one else would have survived, except as slaves. Fenrir realised that and knew he had no choice but to oppose Voldemort and everything he stood for.’

‘He fought for _you!_ ’ the old woman spat. ‘And he died for his trouble.’

‘He fought for the survival of the pack, as well as for me,’ Hermione told her. ‘He fought for the baby in my belly and so that we could share a future together. That’s what we _both_ fought for, and it was right.’

‘Yet what did he get but death?’ the old woman retorted angrily. ‘He was a fool to begin with and an even greater one to fight your battles. He should have killed you when he had the chance.’

Hermione could feel herself getting upset as they continued to talk about the man she loved so much. She could understand that Fenrir’s mother was upset about his death but she was being so hostile and Hermione couldn’t understand why. And now she wanted Hermione to die even though she was carrying her grandchild. Hermione wasn’t sure what she had been hoping for or expecting from the werewolves but this hatred from Fenrir’s family definitely wasn’t it.

She stared defiantly at the old woman and replied, ‘That was never going to happen. Fenrir loved me, just as I loved him . . . as I _still_ love him. He did everything he could to save me, even though we both knew it was hopeless. He refused to give up.’

‘He was moon-struck,’ the old woman said in disgust. ‘Somehow you bewitched him and made him forget his true nature. You cursed him to an existence that would have been miserable for both of you had you survived it. And now he is dead and you are here — alive, still, to torment me as you tormented my poor son.’

‘Don’t you think I’ve wished to die a million times?’ Hermione said, her voice breaking with emotion as the tears she had been attempting to hold back finally spilt free. ‘I miss Fenrir so much that I’m paralysed with grief. But I’m carrying his child . . . your grandchild . . . and so I keep going for his sake. That’s why I came here because I want my child to have a proper family . . . to have a proper lycanthrope life. It’s what Fenrir would have wanted, and what would have happened if he had lived.’

Hearing a noise, Hermione glanced towards the door. The wolf mother, who Hermione knew was called Baba Suma, was coming through it carrying a tray containing a bowl of what looked suspiciously like more of their strengthening soup. The wolf mother studied both Hermione, who was trying desperately to brush away her tears and Fenrir’s stern-looking mother as she made her way to the bed.

‘I hope you haven’t been upsetting our patient, Lycia? You know how weak she is and there’s not long until the wolfling is due,’ Baba Suma said, her voice a deep growl.

Fenrir’s mother looked indignant at the comment. ‘My son is dead because of her—’ she began.

Baba Suma shook her head as she gazed fiercely at the irate woman. ‘Your son made his own choices and he lived and died by them, too. How do you think he would react if he could see what you’re doing to the woman he loved? Do you think he would be happy at the way you’re treating her, especially when you know how ill she is, when you know she came to us because it was what your son would have wanted?’

‘She had no choice,’ Lycia Greyback retorted viciously. ‘She’s pregnant with a werewolf’s spawn and outcast amongst her wizard friends, so she comes crawling here expecting us to care for and look after her.’

‘Not true,’ Baba Suma countered mildly. ‘She has both family and friends who love her and would have been more than happy to help raise the child, but Hermione wanted to be with us. She wanted us all to share the gift of her and Fenrir’s union and for that, we should be grateful.’

Lycia looked sourly at both the girl in the bed and the wolf mother who was placing the tray of broth on her lap.

‘I shall leave then as I’m clearly unwelcome here,’ she answered stiffly.

‘Please, you don’t have to leave,’ Hermione told her. ‘I understand why you’re angry at Fenrir’s death. So am I, and God knows I’ve wished enough times that it had been me rather than him. But I still carry a part of him inside me, and you should share that as his mother. Our child will need his grandmother who will be able to teach him so much.’

‘You should eat before it gets cold,’ Baba Suma said putting the spoon into Hermione’s hand.

‘You should do as the wolf mother says, and then I expect you need some rest. You still look extremely weak,’ Lycia said a little less coldly. ‘I shall return when you’re feeling stronger.’

Hermione gave Lycia a weak smile. ‘That would be good. I’m hoping you can tell me more about Fenrir. There’s so much I don’t know about him and I want to know everything. I know you’re not happy that I’m human, but I’m sure we can get past that. We’re family now and I want to know you, too.’

Lycia nodded but didn’t say anything further. Hermione took a spoonful of the soup, trying not to grimace as she swallowed it. She didn’t like to ask what was in it or concentrate too hard on the possible ingredients otherwise she was certain she would never touch another drop.

Once Baba Suma was satisfied that Hermione was eating she followed Lycia out of the room.

‘By Mani, what on earth possessed you to talk to the child that way?’ the wolf mother said angrily as she caught up with Fenrir’s mother. ‘Don’t you realise how brave she’s been in coming here?’

‘I lost my son because of her,’ Lycia replied coldly. ‘I don’t want her here reminding me of what I’ve lost when all I can think is that it’s her that should be dead.’

Baba Suma made a clicking noise of annoyance with her tongue. ‘Hush, woman, you know you’re going to get your wish soon enough. At least have the decency to make her last few weeks as comfortable for her as possible. She has to leave her child in your custody — don’t let her die worrying that you won’t care for her son.’

Lycia sighed. ‘Why did Fenrir have to choose a human and then keep her human, for Mani’s sake? Why didn’t he just turn her, like every other lycanthrope in history? Then there wouldn’t have been a problem.’

Baba Suma took hold of Lycia’s hand. ‘You know the old tales as well as I do, Lycia. There have always been those of our kind who are attracted to humans as mates. Your grandson will be so special, the first of our kind born for so long and bearing the human blood that keeps us strong. You should be grateful that Fenrir not only chose a human to love but that he found one who loves him so much in return.

‘I do not know why he kept her human, although I understand he did not believe the old warnings, but I’m sure if you ask Hermione she will be happy to share her knowledge with you, just as she requests your knowledge in return. This could go a long way towards cementing the relationship between you. But make it quick, she doesn’t have much time left.’

‘Your potions aren’t helping?’ Lycia asked her voice slightly warmer.

Baba Suma shook her head. ‘We are giving her what we can, but she is still under the enchantment from her mating and the baby is taking its toll on her body. However much we try to strengthen her, she just grows weaker.’

‘Will she make it to the birth?’ Lycia sounded suddenly worried.

‘She should, although it would help if you talk to her, tell her about Fenrir and stop her from pining for him.’

‘And after the birth?’

Baba Suma looked sad and shook her head again. ‘Hermione’s body is so weak already that she is unlikely to survive giving birth. All we can do is try to make it as swift and painless for her as possible.’

‘I see.’ Lycia looked as grave as Baba Suma now. ‘I will come to see Hermione tomorrow morning, then.’

Baba Suma patted Lycia’s hand and smiled. ‘Good. Then things are looking up already.’  


	11. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've made it to the epilogue then thank you for reading, I really appreciate you taking the time. I hope you've enjoyed the story. Dx

‘Come on, Lysander, it’s time for you to come in. Dinner is almost ready.’

The old woman tried to look stern as she watched the boy who was chasing chickens around the dusty yard, although she couldn’t help the smile that broke through as he lunged for one, growling with anger when it hopped carefully out of reach.

‘Not yet, Gramma, I almost caught one. Next time I will for sure,’ the boy said, turning to look at the old woman. He gave her a winsome smile in hopes that this would stay her hand.

The woman put her hands on her hips, her face and tone of voice indicating that she was not in the mood to argue. ‘The chickens will still be there tomorrow, you can try again then. You need to come in and get cleaned up before dinner, and Baba Nuna is waiting to tell you a story.’

The boy scowled fiercely. ‘Why do I have to listen to all those stupid old stories? They’re nothing but a waste of time. Henry says I should be concentrating on hunting skills, not worrying about stupid tales of the wolf mothers.’

‘Henry Blackscar would do better to keep his opinions to himself,’ the old woman replied tartly. ‘You need to learn to do more than just hunt, Lysander. The stories Baba Nuna tells you contain valuable lessons if you would just heed them.’

‘But they’re so boring,’ Lysander retorted petulantly as he watched the chickens coming closer to him again now that he had stopped chasing them. ‘And her voice drones and she’s hard to understand.’

‘That’s because she’s extremely old and from a country far away,’ the woman explained patiently, not for the first time. She pointed towards the door. ‘Now, in. The sooner you sit with her the sooner it will be over and you can have your dinner.’

Lysander kicked frustratedly at the dirt, sending up a scuff of dust but then he walked into the house. Gramma was warm-hearted but she could also be fierce when crossed and she didn’t like to be argued with.

He ran into the bathroom and turned on the tap as he dusted himself down. A moment later he put his hands under the running water, gave them a quick rub, then patted gingerly at his face. He needed to get out before Gramma made him have a proper wash using a flannel and soap.

Lysander turned off the tap, grabbed the towel from the rail, and scrubbed his face hard with it before throwing it back at the rail, then turned to leave the room as the towel slid to the floor.

His grandmother watched him as he returned to the small lounge, the amused smile back on her face. Lysander was so similar to the way his father had been at that age that they could have been twins. He looked like him, too, although his eyes and colouring were those of his mother rather than of his father. She didn’t begrudge her grandson this as the difference softened him a little, and he was a beautiful child — something rare and precious, although how rare he didn’t currently understand.

He would one day, though. Eventually, he would realise the stories he was being told served a purpose, and that one of them, in particular, was extremely important to him. It was a story he had heard many times now but she was sure he still didn’t understand that it was true.

Lysander stopped by the rocking chair near the fire. It contained an extremely old and hairy woman dressed in black clothes, with a tasselled grey lacework shawl wrapped around her shoulders. Her head nodded as if she was asleep and the maroon headscarf she wore was slipping down over her face.

He gently touched her shoulder.

‘Baba Nuna,’ he said quietly, not entirely sure he wanted to wake the sleeping woman.

If he was honest, Lysander didn’t mind listening to the stories as they were generally quite interesting despite what he had told Gramma, but Baba Nuna scared him a little. She was the oldest of the wolf mothers, and although she had lived in England for over a hundred years her accent was still as thick as it had been when she had first arrived, making her hard to understand sometimes.

She smelt a bit odd, too. Part of it was old age, Lysander knew, but she also wore a strange-smelling perfume called Wolf’s Bane which made his nose tickle; and quite often after sitting with the old woman he found himself sneezing, his eyes streaming and itchy. Gramma had told him that Baba Nuna wore the perfume out of defiance, but Lysander didn’t understand what that meant. He just knew he didn’t like it very much and wished he didn’t have to spend so much time sitting with the old woman.

All the children had to listen to the stories the wolf mothers had to tell, Gramma had told him, but that didn’t make him feel any better. He was the only child or at least the only child born within the pack, and that meant he was singled out for special treatment.

The others — the ones who had been turned — got to live together in a large communal hut in the centre of the village, and the wolf mothers would take it in turns to visit and relate the old stories. But he lived with his family — well, with his Gramma — and Baba Nuna was the only one to tell him stories.

Every day she visited and sat in the old rocking chair by the fire, since before he could even remember, and he was expected to crawl up onto her lap and wait while she spoke in her heavily accented English, recounting tales of clever or stupid lycanthropes, all of which had a hidden meaning, apparently.

Lysander knew the stories she told him weren’t the same as the ones the other children were told. He had heard them talking sometimes and the stories seemed to differ in many ways. He was aware that the reason he was told the special stories was because of his parents. His father had been the leader of the pack — just like Henry’s father Draven Blackscar was currently — a true lycanthrope, not a turned werewolf like most of the village, and Gramma and Baba Nuna had told Lysander many times that he was destined to follow in his father’s footsteps.

He didn’t remember his father as he had died before Lysander was born, fighting in the wizarding war at a place called Hogwarts, which Lysander found a bit strange. He couldn’t understand why his father would even have been involved, although his mother had fought in the war, too, so he had probably been there for her.

Lysander knew even less about his mother than his father. Gramma didn’t talk about her much and Lysander got the feeling that she felt guilty about something but he could never work out what, although he sometimes wondered whether it was because she hadn’t been a lycanthrope like the rest of the family. He didn’t quite understand that bit, even if Baba Nuna did regularly tell him stories about it.

He had seen a picture of his mother. She was pretty and smiling, her brown eyes and curly brown hair the same as his. Often, when he lay in bed late at night Lysander imagined his parents were there with him, keeping watch over him and promising to keep him safe. He had never told Gramma this, though, in case she thought him moon-struck and stopped thinking of him as a future pack leader.

It wasn’t only his destiny but his duty, and one that he would make happen one way or another — and that meant listening to the tales of the wolf mother.

‘Baba Nuna,’ he repeated a little louder, this time touching the woman’s shoulder and shaking it gently.

The old woman gave a grunt as she was pulled from her doze. A small, rumbling growl escaped her lips before she realised where she was. She raised her hand to move the headscarf back to its original position as she gave a wolfish smile.

‘Lysander, my little wolfing, there you are.’ She reached out to pinch his cheek before patting her lap. ‘Come and sit down little one. We have tales to tell.’

Lysander forced himself to smile, then sat on Baba Nuna’s lap as he had done thousands of times before.

‘What story are you going to tell me tonight?’ he asked politely.

‘What would you like to hear?’ Baba Nuna responded. She was looking at the young lycanthrope carefully.

‘I’d like to hear about my parents,’ he told her quietly. He glanced over to where Gramma was stirring a pot on the stove, not sure whether she would approve of his request.

Baba Nuna smiled. ‘You like to hear that story, don’t you?’

Lysander frowned. ‘I don’t mean the story you usually tell me. I want to know the truth about them.’

Baba Nuna’s smile didn’t fade as she reached for Lysander’s hand, gripping it tightly between her own clawed ones.

‘Everything I have told you is true, little wolfling.’

Lysander shook his head still frowning. ‘But it can’t be.’

Baba Nuna looked at him curiously. ‘Why don’t you believe it’s true, little one?’

Lysander thought about it for a moment, then, frowning, said, ‘In your story, my mother isn’t a lycanthrope. She’s a witch — a human — and she and my father fall in love. But that can’t be right.’ He broke off for a moment as if trying to work out how to explain. ‘Henry is a born lycanthrope just like me, but his parents are the same. Everyone knows that humans and lycanthropes don’t mix. We turn them into werewolves, we don’t live with them as humans.

‘Henry has told me other stories about my father and they make far more sense than your story does. Henry said he was ferocious, that he hated humans and did everything he could to change them into werewolves. He remembers going to hunt with my father and I don’t believe that the lycanthrope he described would have fallen in love with a human.’

Baba Nuna gave a small growl of annoyance. ‘Henry Blackscar doesn’t know everything, Lysander, and you shouldn’t spend so much time listening to him. His father is only the leader because your father died. Believe me, once you are fully grown you will be more than a match for them both. Henry is correct that your father once lived a less forgiving lifestyle than I have described to you so far, but he changed. People do, you know, whether lycanthrope or human.’ She looked intently at Lysander. ‘There are other tales, too, but you are far too young to listen and understand.’

‘So my mother really was human?’ Lysander said, sounding disappointed.

Baba Nuna nodded. ‘She was . . . and your father loved her very much, as she did him.’ She smiled at him. ‘It is your human blood that makes you so special, little wolfling. It makes you strong, far stronger than you know. One day you will understand, but not now. Now we tell you the stories you need to hear. So, do you want me to tell you about your parents or would you prefer another tale tonight?’

Lysander thought about the picture of his mother. Did her blood really make him so special? Perhaps listening to the story again would give him a better understanding.

He nodded. ‘Tell me the tale.’

Baba Nuna wrapped her arms around him and smiled again.

‘Once upon a time, but not so long ago, there was a powerful and ferocious lycanthrope called Fenrir Greyback . . . .’


End file.
